


To Strive For Freedom

by Kateis_Cakeis



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Assassin's Creed Fusion, Alternate Universe - Assassins & Hitmen, Angst, Assassin Jaskier | Dandelion, Assassin's Creed - Freeform, BAMF Jaskier | Dandelion, Canon-Typical Violence, Fluff, Happy Ending, Love Confessions, M/M, Romance, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2020-09-16
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:27:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 77,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25653610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kateis_Cakeis/pseuds/Kateis_Cakeis
Summary: Julian was six when he learnt of the Assassins and their Creed. Of the war they fought against.Every day since then he had promised himself, and the world, that he would become the best Assassin of his time. That he would become a Master. That he would stand for the freedom everyone deserved to keep.He would meet many during his life, but the most important connection to him, his greatest ally, was a witcher he’d met when young. Many said that if you came across Geralt of Rivia and Julian Pankratz, trouble was close.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 69
Kudos: 223





	1. The School

* * *

“It’s time then,” Julian’s father said, approaching his mother, a grimace gracing his lips. “He needs to go.”

“He is but a child!” His mother scoffed. “He cannot go yet, they would see us as fools for sending a six year old.”

“He has the Vision. He must go. We cannot train him here.”

Julian stood from where he’d been sat by his nanny. They were in his bedroom, and his parents were arguing. He’d only told his nanny that he’d seen his friends glow blue. But what did it mean? “Mother, Father, I don’t want to go.”

His father turned to him and approached quickly, crouching down. “But you must, my son. You do not understand yet, but you will.” His father held up his arm and flicked back his wrist. A blade poked out from his sleeve, it retracted with another flick. “I, and your mother, are Assassins. And you will be too, but first, we must send you to the school in the Blue Mountains.”

“Father, no. The mountains, they’re far.”

His mother joined his father’s side. She stroked Julian’s cheek. “You are young, too young for this… But your father is right, and I’m wrong, my sweet buttercup. We must train you, so that your Vision can be honed. Although, we are too busy playing politics to teach you. That’s what the school is for.”

“Once you are willing, son, come to me. We will get you packed, and I’ll ride out with you immediately.”

Julian frowned. “What do the Assassins do?”

His mother glanced to his father, then turned her head away. “We kill to keep freedom. Our enemy is the Templars. They seek to bring a New World, which will apparently bring peace, but their methods… They strive for order and discipline, cruelty to get what they want. We kill them to prevent that.”

Julian glanced down at his hands, wondering what it would be like to have a blade poking out from his sleeve. He slowly raised his head, looking to his parents. “Were you sent away?”

His mother smiled gently. “I was trained in the very school we wish to send you to.”

“And I,” his father began, hand on his chest, “was trained at the school in Aedirn.”

“We both came out of our training as skilled Assassins.”

Julian nodded. “Then I will go.”

His father gripped his shoulder with a grin. “That’s my boy.”

\--

Julian picked up a knife and ran at the dummy, jumping up, digging the knife in its shoulder, dragging down. He slashed at its stomach, watching as its innards flooded out. He’d observed the other recruits intently over the last few days, he had his technique. He stepped back in a dodge, pretending the dummy had moved to hit him. He ducked under an oncoming ‘sword’, and slashed at the dummy again.

He circled around it, hacking and slashing until it deflated, its insides drained.

A laugh burst from the side-lines, clapping followed. “Julian, my boy, are you sparring with a dummy?”

Benen, his mentor.

Julian smiled and stood before his mentor, nodding. “I’m _bored_. All I get is lessons while the others train. I have nothing to do but read of Templars and history that is no longer relevant to our world. I understand why it’s important… but I want to learn to fight.”

Benen smiled and crouched down, placing a box between them. “Julian, you are very young. Nine is a tender age… However, what you just displayed is impressive for someone who has never wielded a knife.”

He shrugged. “I watched.”

“You watched people who are much older than you.” Benen gestured to one of the recruits training. “All out here today are between fourteen and seventeen. Recruits don’t start training until their thirteen, when they’re sent here.”

Julian bowed his head. He was upset…

“But, you are right. You’ve been here since you were six. Three years is a long time for any recruit, I can’t expect you to wait four more.” Benen opened the box with care and turned it to Julian.

He peered inside and nearly gasped with joy. Two bracers, hidden blades shining.

“It’s time. You’ve proved yourself in your studies, you’re ready for the blades.”

Julian grinned. “Thank you, Benen. I appreciate this.”

“Hmm. You’re a good lad.” Benen picked up one bracer, and attached it to Julian’s arm. The bracer and blade had clearly been specially made, as they were much smaller than what they normally were. No doubt because Julian was still growing. “And good lads get rewarded.” He attached the other bracer. “Now…” He patted Julian’s shoulder, “let’s find you a new dummy to train with.”

He guided Julian passed all the other recruits who were training, to the opposite side of the training grounds, where a few abandoned dummies were, not currently being used. Benen gave a shorter one a good shake and nodded, determining something. Maybe to check if it was stable?

“Do you know how to deploy your blades?” Benen asked, hand at his hip.

Julian deployed them both with a flick, smiling at Benen. He retracted them with another flick and tilted his head. “Like that?”

“Exactly like that. How did you know?”

“I read about the technique.”

Benen grinned. “Then good.” He gestured to the dummy. “Now, stab the dummy square in the chest.”

Julian ran up to it, deploying his blade, ramming it right into the chest.

“Good. Neck.”

He stepped back a few paces, since the dummy was slightly taller than him. He ran at it once again and launched up, catching the dummy’s shoulder as he stabbed its neck, slashing it as he returned to his feet.

“Well thought out. It’ll be easier when you’re older and taller.”

Julian nodded.

“Approach from the back slowly and stab it as you slip past.”

Julian moved to the back of the dummy, walking up to it slowly. He’d read in a book that there was a specific place for a quick kill when approaching from behind. As he got near, he withdrew one of his blades and stabbed right at that spot, slipping right on by.

“Perfect.” Benen chuckled heartedly as he inspected the wound. “Did you read that in a book?”

“Yeah,” Julian said, clear and proud. “I listen to your teachings too.”

“And quite well it seems.” Benen poked at the back, then inspected the other wounds. “Yes, we will continue your studies, but we’ll pace it with practical training. You’re showing potential, Julian, I think you deserve to learn early.”

He lit up and wiped his brow of sweat. “Can we keep going now?”

Benen thinned his lips. He spread his arms and smiled. “I don’t see why not.” He pointed to Julian’s arms. “Some of your movements are stiff and sloppy, let’s work on that, then we’ll talk about building up your muscle.”

Julian rolled one shoulder and readied his stance. “Tell me what to do, Mentor.”

“Bend your arm as you stab with your blade. If you’re slicing, try to keep it straighter.”

He followed Benen’s advice and trained as hard as he was allowed on his first day. Two more dummies were slashed to bits before Benen decided Julian needed to eat. Maybe he had realised he wouldn’t stop, because he wanted to fight! He wanted to become as good as the Assassins he had read about in the books. They were legendary.

One day, he endeavoured to be as half as good as them, and it all started now. Too young for this, they said. He didn’t think there was such a thing anymore. If they allowed him to do it, to train, to wear hidden blades, then no one was too young to be an Assassin.

Maybe that was what the mentors were protecting the young from… But Julian refused to believe that, because here he was, defying the rules.

\--

Julian sat back in his seat, paying attention to his mentor intently. He was in a class of about five young initiates, like himself. Except they had all joined the school at the right age. Thirteen, when training could begin. And yet Julian had just turned six, by comparison. He was fourteen now, but eight years here… and it had become more of a home and less like a school. The other recruits did not treat it as kindly as Julian did.

Some didn’t care for the teachings either. They would come to know their errors, in time. At first, Julian had been reluctant too, but those days were long gone, and he’d since learnt that being an Assassin was the most important cause. Noble even. Keeping power out of Templar hands was not easy, but they would crush them, as they always would, wherever their fight took them. Sure, it seemed the Templars had the upper hand in certain cities across the Continent, but that would not discourage them. Nevertheless, he was certain the Creed would take care of it in time.

Their mentor, Benen, came to a swift stop in his pacing. “And, what of our past world, can anyone tell me?”

Julian stuck up his hand. “We once lived on a world where Pieces of Eden were to be found. Templars sought them out to control the populace and become all powerful. To create their new world. Assassins strove to find them first, or fought to take them back, creating vaults to hide them in. These Pieces were sometimes keys to unlocking Precursor vaults, which held vast amounts of information.”

“Exactly! Well done, Julian.” Benen smiled smugly. “You’ve been reading, haven’t you?”

Julian shrugged. “There isn’t much else to do.”

“Fair is fair.”

“It’s only because Julian was abandoned by his parents,” Anfri jeered, smirking cruelly. “Too busy being important to care about him or the Creed.”

“Yeah, they probably spend their days being glad he’s–” GIyn said, getting cut off.

“Enough!” Benen shouted, loud and angry. “You will not insult Julian. His parents are Pankratzs, and are an important piece of our Creed’s workings. For if not for them, we would not have nearly as much information as we do on noble born Templars. Now, the both of ya, shut up before I kick you out of class.”

“Yes, Sir, sorry, Sir,” the two of them said.

Julian hoped for their sakes and the Creed’s that they matured in their years here. They hardly needed more Assassins being dicks. Some didn’t care much for their tenants, but they were more important than any of the new children could imagine.

To stay their blades from the innocent in this world. There were a lot of people that deserved to die, he was sure, but their fight was with the Templars, and to kill unnecessarily was not their way. Even if groups like soldiers showed up as red, as enemies, for Julian… he would try to limit their deaths in his life. Only kill his target if he could.

Hiding in plain sight too, most often didn’t follow that. Some of them preferred open conflict, and in their history, public assassinations had been rife. Different now. To hide where all could see, to use your blade, and slip away as if you were never there…

Never compromising the Brotherhood? Well, he hoped he could avoid that in his time. There was fear amongst the recruits that they could one day compromise everything… Maybe one Templar would manage to go through with their plot, when they could have been stopped. Or maybe a king would find out about their cause and swear to cut them all down. Many scenarios could occur, they could only hope to be silent enough to avoid them.

“We are Assassins, but that does not mean we can kill whoever we want,” Benen said, sitting down at his desk. He lifted his chin. “We kill our targets, we kill murderers, we kill those who hurt innocents. But we do so under rules. Bureau’s will give permission, or will set out their own rules. We’re not above the people, we’re fighting for them.”

Ada raised her hand. She was Julian’s best friend, and one of the few who enjoyed curling up with the history books to find old techniques that had been lost to them. “What about ‘Everything is permitted’?”

“Understanding of that term will come, but know that it does not overrule our first tenant. An important thing to remember if you actually want to stay an Assassin. Innocents do. Not. Die.”

Julian slowly smiled. The way Benen said it, he was so stern, so sure of himself. He wanted them all to know, to understand. The words of the Creed could get confusing. After all, ‘nothing is true and everything is permitted’, was a long debated term. Some interpreted it one way, and others saw it in such a different light that it went against the Creed’s teachings.

Soon, every recruit in the room would know. Whether they understood was a different matter entirely.

Benen lectured more on the Creed’s teachings, briefly touching on their founders. They were from their home world, but were still important since they’d started this. Set their Creed in motion. It had evolved much since then, and things were still changing, but it still held all the old values. They were still the same, carrying the notion forward that the Templars had to be stopped.

No matter what.

“Right!” Benen stood. “Let’s go to the training grounds. I’ll teach you about important weak points.”

Julian briefly extended his blade, staring at it with a smile. He wished to learn more, but he already had this knowledge, from years of training with Benen. Compared to the other recruits, he was like a fully-fledged Assassin now (but he wasn’t, he still had a long way to go).

What he had achieved, however, was that the blades were an extension of himself. Part of his arms. He was one with them, and he treated them kindly. They were what would keep him safe, and would be the final touch any Templar knew.

As they headed down, Ada stuck to his side. She was taller than him, _for now_ , and had her hair tied in braids. Her robes were red, unlike his white ones. She’d been gifted them from her mother, who had originally gotten them from the school in the Fiery Mountains.

“So, what will we be reading later?” she asked.

“I was thinking the books about sword fighting would be good. The ones written by Miles are the best.”

Ada chuckled softly. “You’ve already read them?”

Julian huffed, shrugging one shoulder. “I’ve been here a long time, Ada. I’ve read all the books in the library.” He hit her arm playfully with the back of his hand. “They’re detailed, and speak about the nuances to fighting unlike any other writings.”

“Then we’ll read them.” She glanced down at her bracer, adjusting it. “How do you think training will go?”

“The usual. Benen will get us all to practice, and he’ll grow tired of some students, like Anfri and Glyn.” Julian smiled to himself, he didn’t hate them, but they were annoyingly awful people, and needed to learn respect. “To which he’ll step in and get me to spar with him to show them how it’s done.” He grinned at Ada. “But not you, you’re good.”

Ada smiled gently, but it had an embarrassed hint to it. “Not as good as you.”

“You’ve had barely a year to train, I’ve had five years. And not periodic training either. Five hours a day, every day, for five years. Sometimes, I would even come out on warm nights…” He shook his head. “I have years on you, that’s the difference. You’re _skilled_ , you’ll learn.”

“Thank you, Julian… You’re kinder than the other boys.”

“Some boys here think they’re on a trip, having fun, they’ll soon learn this is their livelihood.” Julian straightened his bracer as they stepped outside, moving towards the training area. “Whether they like it or not right now, a choice to leave comes later, but not yet. For now, they train.”

Ada sucked in a breath, staring on ahead. “Then they better learn quick, before Benen kicks them out regardless.”

“True…”

“What are you both nattering on about?” Bradwr said, slowing down to walk beside them.

“Ah, nothing you lummox,” Ada said, pushing at his shoulder, and wrapping an arm around his neck. Bradwr was like a brother to Ada sometimes, they’d arrived on the same day, and had come from the same city. It was always nice to see them interact.

Julian provided an explanation regardless, “We were talking about skill and whether Benen is going to grow frustrated with Anfri.”

Bradwr laughed. “Anfri will piss him off as usual, that’s never gonna change.” He spun around, walking backwards. “But who knows, we’ll see.”

They came to a stop at the grounds, and Benen eyed them all carefully. He walked around them, twice over, before stopping beside Julian. He placed a hand at his shoulder and smiled at him.

“Julian, will you show the class how to fight just as effectively with your hood up?”

Julian grinned and stepped out from the group, pulling up his hood. “It would be my pleasure.”

He hopped over the fence to the training grounds and set to work on one dummy, using his blades as they were intended. Dealing powerful blows to the chest and neck, slashing at the stomach and arms. He kept his movements precise, even with the limited sight of his hood, trying to display that as best he could.

He stepped back. “Is that enough?”

Benen grinned. “It is. Now, as you all can see, fighting with a hood did not limit Julian’s ability. I want you all to fight with your hoods. It’s your first time, so don’t expect to be attune with your blade.” He led them in. “And don’t worry, I’ll guide you all.”

Bradwr approached Julian with a smile. “One day, I’m going to fight you and win.”

Julian smiled, tilting his head back (Bradwr was also taller than him). “I’d enjoy that fight.”

“Me too.” Bradwr pulled up his hood and found a dummy of his own.

“Anfri, keep those movements precise. Ada, the blade is an extension, not a sole weapon,” Benen said, parading along the grounds, eyes sharply trained on them. “Glyn, you will deal no damage by trying to peek around your hood. Bradwr, calm yourself, it’s not a race.” He came to a stop in front of Julian. “And… Julian, you demonstrated well, but do remember not to show off, they’re learning.”

He nodded. “Sorry, I got carried away.”

“I know you do.” Benen gestured to the dummy. “Drag that over to the school’s walls. You need to practice your jumps.”

Julian grinned and grabbed the dummy, running with it. This training practice was his favourite. Getting the balance right was hard, and was more likely to get him killed than _get him_ a kill. Still, to scale a building just to pounce upon an enemy was a unique way of doing things, and something Julian couldn’t wait to try on a real person, when the time came.

As he climbed up to the school’s roof, he watched as Benen yet again corrected Anfri, to which they got into a squabble. Julian used his Eagle Vision to listen in and felt like laughing at how naïve Anfri was, believing training didn’t come with improvement. He just _had_ to listen in.

When they were done squabbling, Julian readied himself and jumped down, stabbing his blade into the dummy’s neck as he used it to keep him from breaking his legs. He looked up to see Anfri back to training, and Benen smiling at him.

With his mentor impressed, and his skill evolving, Julian knew he was going to be a good Assassin. It was only a matter of time before he proved that.

\--

Julian snuck out of his room in the middle of the night, robes and hidden blades donned. He ran from the large house like school. Clambering up the outer wall, finding small slots in the brick to launch himself up. He was soon over it, and kept up his sprint through the paths on the mountain.

There had only been three occasions when he’d been outside the walls.

When he first came to the school, though those memories were vague now. Once to hunt and collect fur. And when Benen had shown him the Altar, where Assassins gained their rank and were sent out to their assigned city.

But to be out and explore? Never. Not in all the nine years he’d been here.

And he certainly wasn’t gaining permission to do it.

Soon, he was over one half of the mountain, going down the next, running through the trees. And he was _free_. As an Assassin should be. Free to run, to carry out their tasks, to free others. He was excited for the day he was ready to leave.

He didn’t know how long he’d run in the direction he was going, when he found the fortress amongst the trees. There was only one place this could be. They had learnt of the witchers that shared the mountain with them. Both fortresses on either side.

The witchers were neutral, that he knew. But they often got wrapped up in Templar plots, as the Templars used them. Be it through the method of getting them to kill innocents, or mercenaries the Assassins had employed for help. Sometimes plots included monsters, Julian had heard.

They didn’t aid the Templars though, nor the Assassins. And while Templars manipulated them, and often betrayed, Assassins never called on them. Even though they fought for the same thing… peace. In the different forms it came in. Peace from monsters, and peace from world order.

Julian smirked, well, since he was here…

He went running towards the fortress, quickly climbing up its wall. It was easy to, with all the jutting out stone. He stopped close to the top, slipping into his Eagle Vision. No guards on the battlements, and in fact, no red at all. Julian was lucky, he’d managed to develop seeing through walls, and had a good range. He could see some witchers, or witchers in training, glow white. Information then… That made sense, witchers had knowledge, and Assassins were always in need of information.

These witchers truly were neutral to Julian’s mind, as he was most likely interpreting them that way, rather than his Vision telling him anything. It was not an entirely accurate sense, and often changed to what loyalties were shown at present. Someone could quickly turn from blue to red, or so he’d been told. He supposed it was much like normal sight. You couldn’t believe everything you saw to be true… linking in with ‘nothing is true’.

Sometimes allies could betray. Sometimes enemies could be kind and merciful, letting someone go when they shouldn’t. Eagle Vision was just an indicator, not a true judgement of the choices someone would make.

He climbed up the wall and walked down the length of the battlements. The towers were grand, the fortress clearly strong. It was absolutely beautiful. A suiting place for the Wolf Witchers. Up in the cold mountains, with their pack to keep the young ones safe.

He was about to hop back over the wall and run home when he noticed a curled up figure beside the door to one tower. The boy had dark hair, and… looked to be about Julian’s age. Even though he was curled up, Julian could tell, using his training to take in key clues. His Eagle Vision told him the boy was a friend, as he glowed blue.

“Hi there…” Julian whispered upon his approach.

The boy’s head snapped up. His lips were pulled thin, like he was pondering him. But his eyes were red raw, and the tear tracks were evident. “Who are you?”

Julian lifted his hands and pushed his hood down. “No one. But my name is Julian.” He cupped his hands behind his back. “What is your name?”

“Geralt.”

“Hi, Geralt.” He moved slowly, sitting on the wall beside him. “Why are you crying?”

“I’m not,” he said quickly, wiping his tears blatantly.

“Sure… But you were, so why?”

It was late at night, Julian’s vision told him many of the witchers, or well, the boys who would become witchers, were sleeping. And yet, here was Geralt, crying his eyes out.

“A friend of mine… died.”

Julian sighed. Oh. “I’m sorry… Was it your training?” He’d heard of witchers not making it through, but he’d never known why. Benen never explained.

Geralt looked up at him with wide eyes.

“I know things.”

Geralt nodded. “Didn’t survive the mutations.”

Julian glanced to the keep, eyebrows raised. “Your mutations kill you?”

“They can.”

“But… ours don’t.”

“You’re a witcher?” Geralt asked, his voice piqued with curiosity. Maybe he wondered why he’d been approached by a stranger, at night.

“No. Just from a place with similar methods.” Julian faced Geralt once more, mouth twisted. This place was much crueller than the teachings had said.

Geralt furrowed his brow, glancing to the insignia on his lapel. “You’re an Assassin.”

“Yeah. You learn about us?”

“Yes.” He turned away. “Never kill an Assassin, they fight a war like us, they keep our freedom.”

“That is… good to know. We learn that while witchers may do work for Templars you are not our enemies.”

“But if we do work for your enemies…”

“It comes with your job.” Julian shrugged. He’d long made up his mind about this. “Doesn’t bother me. Doesn’t bother any of us unless a witcher becomes a Templar, then that’s different.”

Geralt fiddled with his trouser leg. “If a witcher becomes a Templar, they are no brother of mine.”

Julian hummed, staring out at the view. “Tell me, do you want an Assassin ally?”

“Sure.”

“Then,” He stuck out his hand, “you have one.”

Geralt shook his hand with a slight smile. “Will you tell me about yourself? You seem… interesting. Different to everyone I know.”

“Okay… Let’s see, my favourite colour is blue. I love flowers of every kind, and my favourite animal is a robin. Not very Assassin like, but still a bird.” He bumped Geralt’s boot with his own. “What about you?”

“Um… I like black. I like horses, and the smell of trees is nice.”

“It’s good, isn’t it? The fresh air of this mountain? It will never grow old.”

Geralt tilted his head. “Shouldn’t you like the city more? That’s where Assassins find themselves most, right?”

“Yeah, but cities are sure to grow boring. The freedom of the land will always taste sweeter.”

Geralt hummed. “Why did you come here?”

Julian grinned, leaning towards Geralt as if it were a secret. “Snuck in when I snuck out of my school. I’m tired of not exploring the mountain.”

“I shouldn’t be up here. I should be in bed.”

“So, we both shouldn’t be here and yet…”

Geralt smirked slightly. “Here we are.”

Julian sat quietly for a long moment, just staring. Taking in both the views Kaer Morhen was graced with, and Geralt. This brown haired, blue eyed boy, who already looked far too weathered by his training and the idea of mutations – that could kill apparently! Surely suffering was to come in his future.

“I should go,” he whispered, already feeling the need to explore again. Ready to be on the move, a good trait for an Assassin. Ready. Always.

Geralt nodded. “Me too. Goodbye, Julian.”

“Goodbye, Geralt.” He smiled at him and stood, running towards the opposite wall, scaling down it. When he glanced up, he saw Geralt gaping at him from up top.

Julian winked and casually saluted him. He turned and ran off into the trees once again. That boy was interesting…

Maybe he’d come back again one day and seek Geralt out. Not that coming outside could be a regular occurrence. He was already risking himself as it was.

He found that his stamina was vastly improving him, his rich DNA history serving him well. He didn’t run out of breath as he made it to the other side, but he was beginning to feel the burn as he jumped over the outer wall.

Quickly, he caught his breath and straightened his robes. He made his way back inside, creeping to his room. He slipped in unnoticed, just like a Master Assassin. Something he one day aspired to be.

He shrugged out of his robes and carefully took his bracers off, placing them down on the table beside his bed. He slipped under the covers and stared up at the ceiling.

Would he see Geralt again…? That was the question he fell asleep to.

\--

“A present, from my mother,” Julian said, placing the lute over his shoulder, pulling on the strap to ensure it was secure.

Ada tossed her head to the side. “Music will be good for you, it’ll finally get you out of your books.”

He gaped at her. “I’m _sorry_ , are you trying to say _I’m_ the one with my nose buried in a book constantly? I didn’t know you’d turned into a hypocrite in your old age.”

“Har har.” She folded her arms. “Honestly, though, you train too hard, and you’ve reread some of those books five times. Something else will… be new?”

Julian smiled ruefully. “I have played before, you know. My father had me practising music at five, and there’s an old lute in the crypt. Benen said it belonged to one of the mentors, long ago.”

“So, why pretend you have nothing to do?”

“Because I don’t. It all grows so boring when you’ve been locked away in the school’s walls for almost as long as you can remember.” He made his way out of his room, and didn’t wait for Ada as he ambled down the corridor.

“Right…” she said, coming up beside him. “You can play a lute, you have more skills in fighting than half of the recruits our age, and you read more than any of us, yet you’re bored out of your brain? Why don’t you ask to leave and go somewhere else?”

Julian scoffed, turning his head to Ada with a horrified look about him. “Ask to leave before I reach the age to be made an Assassin? Are you alright? I don’t want to leave the school, I _want_ to be able to visit other places every so often. I want to explore the mountain… I want to free.” He thinned his lips, folding his arms as they kept walking. “But I want to be an Assassin above all else. That’s why I study and train hard, because I want to leave this school with the knowledge and skills of a more seasoned Assassin.”

“You don’t want to leave, but you’re bored, and you can’t leave the walls of this massive school… Hm, that is quite the predicament.”

“ _Exactly_. Still, with this present from my mother, I can stop using that half broken lute.” He grinned. “You’re right, I can have fun with this, it just won’t taste as nice as freedom does.”

Ada huffed a laugh, shaking her head. “Do you know what freedom is, since you bemoan that you’re trapped here?”

Julian recalled the night he’d climbed the walls and ran. It had been six months since then, and he’d been cautious to leave, in case he was caught, or… Well, he didn’t exactly want to find Kaer Morhen again. Curiosity would get the better of him and he’d venture into the keep once more… But what if he couldn’t see Geralt in his Vision? What if that innocent boy he’d met had been given the mutations and was now dead?

There were many reasons not to leave, but he couldn’t help but wish for that feeling again, of the wind in his hair. Even the feeling of meeting someone completely different, far from the Creed.

“I know freedom in its fundamentals, what we fight for. That no one should be controlled by people with ultimate power. The people should command themselves.” He smiled, albeit sadly, for his words were hope for himself. “When I leave the school and begin my journey, I cannot wait to feel the chains of this place melt away.”

Ada sighed, nodding. “You’ve been given a shit start, but a head start too. I can only hope you find your own freedom.” She whacked his back and picked up her pace. “Come on then, let’s get to the roof.”

She went running off, and Julian could do nothing but run after her. They had planned to do this for a few days, to go up on the school’s roof, but Julian had thought to take his lute with them, just for some light entertainment. They quickly found themselves outside the back, with the sun setting, its orange glow casting softly upon the school.

Ada grinned at him and ran towards the building, scrambling up. She clung onto the stones, and used the windows to climb further. Her freerunning was certainly getting better, as good as the rest of them. Julian scaled the building with ease, mindful of his lute as he climbed up. He launched himself to the top and rolled to his feet, joining Ada where she’d sat near the chimney.

He pulled his lute around, settling it in his lap, placing his fingers upon the strings. “I don’t know how good I am… Only ever played in the crypt with sheet music open in front of me.”

Ada tipped her head back to the sky. “What kind of sheet music?”

“Found a book, years back, with songs inside. It has the name Des scrawled in the front, but other than that, I have no idea where it comes from.”

“Interesting… There are still so many secrets to history.” She nudged his arm with her elbow. “Play a song from the book?”

Julian mulled over all the ones he knew by heart, and decided on his favourite of the bunch. “I’ll play… Family.”

Ada lay back on her hands, watching Julian with soft eyes as he began to play. The soft beginning to the music was Julian’s favourite part, the way it dipped into deeper notes and had a greater melody spun within it. To play it with only one instrument was an injustice to the piece. He slowly introduced his voice, vocalising, as the sheet music instructed, following the tune with grace – _hopefully_. Because it was music to evoke emotion, to allow someone to stare out at the horizon and know there was a bigger picture, a story to everything.

A history.

He’d connected to this piece, ever since he’d first played it. Playing it was seamless, easy and yet so emotional, so… Like it was to be passed on, passed down, played for every new generation, with new instruments, with new musicians. He felt as if it was a motif, to them all, that there was history and bloodlines and families woven into the melody. Just that, family.

The lute peacefully emitted the dying notes of the song as it came to its end.

Ada breathed out, eyes teary. “Julian… that was beautiful.” She lit up, huffing with amusement. “To think we’ve had that piece hidden within the library for years, abandoned…”

Julian grinned. “Abandoned no more. I will be playing this piece for a long time.”

“It deserves it. Play it until your dying breath, it’s worth that.”

He stroked his fingers across the strings, eyes flicking up to the mountains before them. “It is… It works for who we are, I think. We’re family, a Brotherhood, with our rich bloodlines.”

Ada smiled and knocked his shoulder with her hand. “A family of Assassins, huh?”

“Yeah…”

He narrowed his eyes at the darkening sky and knew _exactly_ what to do next.

Later that night, after more songs had been played, after he and Ada had parted in a hallway, after everyone was long asleep, Julian once again escaped the school and went running. He clambered up to a small peak and stared at the area before him. A vast mountain, trees everywhere, the school behind him, Kaer Morhen somewhere down the other side… He could feel it in his senses. _Freedom_.

The melody played over and over again in his head, and there was a small part of him that could imagine him running along this mountain, with his ancestors and all the Assassins he had read about running behind him. Equally as quick, but far more experienced than him in terms of their craft. He slid down one part of the mountain, and took to the trees, jumping to sturdy branches, and using some to launch himself across a gap.

He was at one with the environment, or as one as he could be for someone who had so little training in this skill compared to the rest of his abilities. But if he snuck out more often… he was sure to improve.

Soon enough, and almost as if he’d done it mindlessly, he arrived at Kaer Morhen, the looming fortress just as strong as he remembered six months prior. Once again, it was simple to climb, and he hauled himself onto the battlements, hood up and stance ready to run, in case he ran into anyone unwelcoming.

Slipping into his Eagle Vision he searched through the walls, finding nothing but lying white figures. Hmm. Was Geralt no longer blue? Was he dead? Julian circled the keep out of curiosity, looking for the boy, hoping he was still with them in this world. It wasn’t like he cared… really… he’d only met him once…

But it had been an intriguing conversation he would like to have again.

“I never thought you’d come back.”

Julian _did not_ jump. If he had jumped at the sudden noise, he was an awful Assassin and did not deserve any rank but novice. Yet… he had definitely stumbled backwards, and extended his hidden blade towards the voice.

It was Geralt. It being the middle of the night, he still couldn’t gleam much of his features, but he had grown in the last six months, that was certain. Julian breathed and withdrew his hidden blade.

“I didn’t want to get caught,” he explained, knowing it wasn’t the whole truth.

Geralt nodded and wandered over to the wall, sitting down. “You… stand differently.”

Julian glanced down at himself, folding his arms. “Do I?”

“You’ve aged a lot since we last met. Was it your training?”

“I wouldn’t say my training has changed much, but I can say the taste of freedom my last outing gave me only made me crave more.” He shrugged. “Maybe that’s why?”

“Maybe.” Geralt patted the space beside him. “Sit with me?”

Julian pulled his hood down and went to sit beside Geralt. “So… we’re here again.”

“We are. What brought you back?”

“What do you think?”

Geralt smiled slightly, ducking his head. “I didn’t think I would miss a person I barely know…”

“And I didn’t think witchers in training were allowed to display such emotion.”

The smile was wiped from Geralt’s face. “We’re told not to, but it’s hard not to.”

Julian reached out without thinking, cupping Geralt’s jaw, turning his head towards him. “Hey, don’t listen to whatever your mentors say. _Feel_. It’s normal, it’s allowed, and the freedom of emotion… it’s part of what makes us who we are. Don’t ever fear it.”

Geralt smiled once again, and it brought joy to Julian’s eyes. “Are all Assassins so optimistic?”

“Some are. We believe in a lot, but we forge our own opinions, and my opinion is… emotions are crucial. I’m fairly certain no mutation can rip them out.” He thinned his lips and let his hand drop, turning away. He knew of items that could though. Pieces from a world their species once knew, where Those Who Came Before controlled them. They were made for it, in a cruel way. And it was part of why the Assassins existed in their current form. Only now, it was against magic, rather than technology. “But technology can make us… It can control. But that’s long gone, nothing to worry about these days.”

“Your fight, the technology was how it started?”

“In ways, yes, but I assume other history is long forgotten.” He turned back to Geralt with a grin. “Enough of about what we are, okay? No more Assassins or Witchers. Hm? Surely there is some common hobby we can talk about?”

“Unless you want to talk about fighting and the skills of a witcher…”

“Come on, you must know other stuff. Do you read books?”

“Sometimes, but it’s about things to do with my training.”

Julian folded his arms, a little frustrated that he couldn’t find a conversation topic that didn’t circle back to what they were. He fiddled with his bracer. “What about the stars, do you know anything about constellations?”

“Not much.” Geralt glanced up at the sky, an upwards turn to his lips. “Do you know?”

“I read, _a lot_. Do you want me to tell you about them, of the stories?”

Geralt looked to Julian and smiled slightly. “Go ahead.”

Julian shuffled closer and pointed up to the sky, glad for the clear night. He traced a pattern in the air, drawing out a constellation. “That’s the Eagle, and believe it or not, it sometimes stands for freedom.”

Geralt laughed, breathy and small, but a laugh, nonetheless. “Of course it does. I can only assume an Assassin came up with that.”

Julian tilted his head back and forth, grinning. “Maybe… maybe not. Either way, it’s an eagle, and it’s freedom. Those stars… they’re pretty, and I love what they stand for.”

“What else is there?” Geralt said, quietly, eyes trained on Julian, kind and warming.

“Well! There’s plenty…!” He drew another pattern in the sky and the night went on like that until it was time to go. The longer they stayed, the more likely it was that they would be caught. Maybe someone would spot them up here, or maybe someone would check on Julian to find him missing back home.

Nevertheless, as the night grew lighter, they both had to go.

And this time, saying goodbye was hard…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates will be weekly!!!
> 
> For anyone interested, Jaskier's Eagle Vision is like in AC3, in how he sees. So there is a vague colour aura coming off people but they are not fully that colour. He can only walk when using it, not run (or climb). And he can see auras through walls, being able to determine if a person is sitting, standing, or lying down. Though, he cannot tag/mark people.
> 
> Come talk to me on [tumblr! ^.^](https://kateis-cakeis.tumblr.com/)  
> Art by [avengersbarnes!!!](https://avengersbarnes.tumblr.com/)


	2. We Are Assassins

Julian still thought about Geralt, one and a half years later. The young and seemingly innocent boy, a boy who was similar in age to him. Only a couple years difference, from what he had gleamed… They had met a third time, a week after the second, and then… Well, Julian could only presume he’d been given the mutations sometime between their third meeting and three months later, when he’d had a chance to return. But on that day, he’d found no blue at all.

Geralt was gone. He had no idea if he was dead, or if he had survived and been sent out into the world. And mostly, Julian had tried to forget. He didn’t want to know because the truth of the matter scared him. It wasn’t as if he could find out anyway, otherwise people would question how he had known Geralt in the first place. So no, it would be a forever unanswered question, and the memories… they had to be forgotten, for his own sake.

And he tried his best to do just that, training and reading as he normally would, to be the best of their time. That’s what he strove for now, to be the Assassin he was meant to be, no distractions.

He was out in the gardens, sitting on a bench surrounded by flowers, playing his lute. A peaceful fog lay in the morning air, the cold crispness of the mountain slowly fading into a spring. It was a good time of year for the weather up here, as it reminded Julian of how the summer months could make it warm. It was a promise, a goodbye to winter. And it came along with his birthday, that was two weeks passed now.

After all the years here, he couldn’t quite believe he was seventeen. Eleven years was a long time for any home, and this was more a one than any. Benen, and the headmaster of the school, Eryk, being more like parents to him than his own. His father and mother had only visited three times, said in their letters it was too risky to visit more. Yet words on a page were not enough. Benen had taken better care of him, had nurtured him, and trained him when he was ready, not when it was deemed right by people who… didn’t care.

Well, they cared… They did. It was a lie to say they didn’t. But still… they had only sent him because his Vision had developed at a younger age than they had seen or experienced themselves. There had been younger, but then, their parents didn’t send them to a school at that age.

It was a shame that he didn’t know his parents more. Many said they were not only good Assassins but good people.

All he knew was, they didn’t have the time to train him, or the time to leave their work, or risk visiting, in case the Templars found them out. He loved them, and they loved him, but the circumstance of being what they were, and what Julian had to become, had torn them away from each other. Leaving only small windows of time for them to see each other in. It must have been hard on them, because it was certainly hard on him.

Julian lifted his head suddenly, hands stilling on the strings of his lute. Benen was standing before him, hands cupped in front of him. “What is it?”

“It’s time. Eryk has decided your test must come now.”

Wait… but… “I have another year yet. No one is send out until they’re eighteen.”

“Not you, my boy.” Benen smiled at him, eyes serious. “You are one of the best recruits I have ever seen. Eryk agrees. People like you are rare, your passion rare.”

Julian chuckled dryly, glancing down at his lute. “The only reason I’m the way that I am, is because I’ve been here for eleven years and had nothing else do but to train and learn.”

“And it’s made you a brilliant recruit.”

“It also made for a shitting lonely childhood, but okay.”

Benen frowned and looked away with a wince. “I wish I could have done better for you.”

Julian shrugged and stood. “Nothing that could have been done, really. My parents couldn’t give me the care I needed, and I wanted to become an Assassin like them, even if I didn’t know what it meant when I was _six_. I know what it means now.” He slung his lute over his shoulder. “So, when do you need me?”

“Outside at the Altar, in an hour.”

“I’ll be there.”

The hour passed quickly. He donned his white robes, tied his red sash around his middle, buckling his belts around it. He picked up the new bracers his father had sent him only a few weeks ago. They would come in handy now. Silver decoration around brown leather, and an added blue stitching around the edges. With the hidden blades perfectly crafted, Assassin Insignias clear. A lovely gift, an even better weapon.

He locked his belongings away in his room, and had left a note on his desk, just in case… Anything could happen, he could _die_. Hence the letter.

With his robes and his hidden blades… what could go wrong? The answer was everything, it could all go to shit in a second, even just getting to wherever they were going could go wrong. The world wasn’t exactly peaceful in terms of animals and species, it was volatile. Which in turn made it easier for Templars to get their way.

He left the school through the very normal method of climbing over the top of the wall. The surrounding walls did have a gate, but it was locked and was only ever opened for newcomers. Everyone else went in and out via climbing, which was also a roundabout way of testing skills.

The Altar was just as he remembered. A simple structure made from stone in a curved bit of the cliff, that almost looked like a cliff but was really just an overhang. The stone structure, that was more like a table with two carved out pillars, was completely smooth, almost shiny, and had a brazier sitting in behind it. The mentors of the school were gathered around it, along with Eryk. This was where the ritual for a recruit leaving the school for good occurred.

Beside Benen was two horses. One white, the other brown. Clearly one for each of them, as it was a mentor’s job to guide the new recruit to their target, and to judge them on their abilities during the assassination task.

Eryk stepped out from the line they stood in. “Julian, it’s good to see you looking so prepared.”

Julian nodded. “I am prepared.”

“And that will be proven or not in the coming days.” He gestured to horses. “You and Benen will ride out for Gelibol. There is a minor Templar there, Benen will give you more information when you arrive at the city.”

Benen lead the horses over to Julian. “Take your pick.”

Julian took the reins of the white horse, there was something about the animal that just sat right with him. “Time to go then…”

“Good luck,” Eryk said, “I’m wishing you the best.”

Julian curtly nodded and swung himself up on the horse. “Thank you, headmaster.”

Eryk smiled.

Benen mounted his horse as well, and turned to face the path down the mountain. “Ready?”

“Yeah.” Julian’s gaze settled on the road ahead. “Yeah, I am.”

\--

Julian settled on the rooftop next to Benen, watching people having fun in the courtyard of a lord’s manor (with some fancy title Julian didn’t care about). Others were making their way inside, from the looks of it. All in posh and expensive dress. The men wore doublets unlike anything he had ever seen in their design, and the women had dresses more spectacular than any description could do justice.

“So, who is my target?” Julian asked.

“A slave owner. Colston.” Benen pointed to a man with a cloak on, all his clothes were very magnificent, well stitched, with colours that must have cost an arm and a leg. “He brings in coin for the Templars, to strengthen their hold here.”

“And it’s time to stop that?”

“Precisely. I’m sure you can take it from here?”

Julian slipped into his Eagle Vision as Colston approached the door. Gold shone from him as he entered the building, the guards letting him in. “I can.”

Benen clapped Julian on the back. “Then good luck.”

Julian curtly nodded and approached the edge of the rooftop, scaling down it and back ejecting, grabbing onto the window ledge behind him. The manor was large and had multiple floors. Luckily enough, Julian found an open window towards an upper level. He slipped in and took a look around, finding himself in a corridor. He could hear plenty of voices downstairs, rowdy ones from the night. Sloshes of liquid too. It was certainly a party, of what kind he didn’t know, nor did it matter to him.

He made his way downstairs slowly, finding people milling about on the ground floor. In multiple rooms. But there was one most seemed to be crowded in. He relied on his Vision as he weaved through the crowds, blending in as he gently pushed people out of the way. In a bigger, larger, grander room, that seemed to mimic a hall in a castle, he found Colston, drinking wine while talking to a good few people.

There was a band playing in this room too. It added to the atmosphere greatly.

“So, how’s the business?” a man asked Colston.

Julian closed in one them and blended with a group of people that were talking about the state of the city. They paid him no mind.

“Better than ever. The produce has never sold so well!”

“Ah, good then! Because I have an idea for a new venture.”

Colston hummed, taking a sip of his wine. “You know how busy I am. My employers wouldn’t be happy if I became occupied with something else.”

The other man nodded and laughed. “A right laugh your lot are. I’m sorry for suggesting it.”

Another man placed his hand on Colston’s shoulder, to which Colston side-eyed him, but the hand did not move. “Your _employers_ are the greatest dicks this continent has to offer.”

“Don’t let any of them ever hear you say that. You’d die on the spot.”

“Shit…” The hand did move then.

Colston shrugged. “It’s how they are. Care for the group, their own people.”

The first man shook his head. “They sound lovely, at times. One day, introduce me?”

“I’ll be sure to, my good friend. They could use someone of your skills in this city.”

“Ah! Colston!” a third man suddenly said, appearing at his side, hand waving around, wine unsteady in his hand. “I’m so glad you could make it.”

“As am I, Maldon. This is a good party so far.”

Maldon grinned. “Just wait until the food comes out and we convene to the dining hall.”

“You have a dining hall in here?” one of the other men said, his jaw gaping.

“The manor is large, as you can tell.” Maldon’s hand went waving about. “Now, Colston– Shit!”

Maldon’s hand movements went too far, and his goblet went spilling all over Colston. Wine dripping down his lovely (if Julian was allowed to say that) dark blue doublet. A shame. Colston’s face brewed with anger, but he regained himself quickly.

“Oh! I’m so sorry, Colston. Come, come, let’s get you a new doublet.” Maldon guided him away, placing the goblet in a passer-by’s hand. Colston readily followed him, and Julian did too.

Maldon brought Colston to a room on the second floor. From the peek Julian had taken, the room was filled with plenty of wardrobes and was likely where Maldon kept all his spare clothes. There were a few chairs here and there in the room, but it seemed to be bare bones.

“Here,” Maldon handed Colston a bunch of doublets. “Try these on and find a one that fits. I’ll be downstairs if you need me, take anything you like. Again, I’m so sorry.”

Colston waved him off. “It is of no trouble, Maldon. These things happen.”

Julian rushed to the other side of the corridor, light on his feet so as not to make a sound. Maldon luckily didn’t seem to have any peripheral vision as he left the room, going straight for the stairs at the middle of the corridor.

Julian sighed out and slowly made his way back to the door of the room Colston was in. One look with his Vision told him he was turned away from the door, peering out a window as he buttoned one doublet up. With a roll of one shoulder, Julian silently opened the door and quietly walked over.

He deployed his hidden blade and covered Colston’s mouth right as he plunged it into his neck. He lowered him to the ground, holding him steady as he spluttered. Another doublet ruined, this time with blood rather than red wine.

“An Assassin…” Colston choked, chuckling slightly. “Should have known I didn’t have any time left. Got too cocky.”

“It wasn’t your cockiness, Colston, it was what you are that brought you this death. We always would have found you.”

“Why me…? Surely there are more elite targets to take out.”

Julian leant in close. “A slave owner who brings in money is sometimes more dangerous than a Grand Master. With your work gone people can be freed.”

Colston chuckled. “I was helping them! Their lives would have been chucked away without me. They would have died from starvation or disease. With me… they live.”

“No one lives as a slave, they work, and they die without their freedom. _That is no life_.”

Colston chuckled. “Just know that you have stopped nothing today, Assassin. You have only taken a life.”

“A dead Templar is better than a living one,” Julian snarled. “You are not right.”

“Neither are you.” Colston’s head fell back, and with a quick feel for his pulse, Julian declared him to be dead.

He stood and stared at the dead man before him. His first target… “May you become better in death.”

Swiftly enough he left the room before anyone came to check on Colston. He made his way back upstairs, to the window he’d entered through, and went out the same way. He jumped backwards onto the building behind him and climbed up onto the rooftop. Benen was resting back against the chimney, humming to himself.

“It’s done,” Julian said, smiling as Benen jumped up with a quirk at his eyebrow.

“That quickly? My, my, Julian, I’m impressed.” He tilted his head to the side, gesturing to the ground below. “Come on, let’s get out of here before anyone finds your target.”

Julian nodded and went running off with Benen, back to where they’d set their horses up in a stable. They were out of the city in no time, and likely before Colston had been found. A successful kill, the first of many, Julian hoped.

\--

Benen left Eryk’s office with a smile, nodding to Julian on his way. He walked down the corridor without saying another word, and Julian was left there, still standing outside, in silence. Once they had arrived back, earlier this morning, Benen had guided him straight to Eryk’s office, where the other mentors joined him. A few had already left, and now with Benen gone, no one else was inside… It was Julian’s turn to be judged.

He didn’t know why he was so nervous. The assassination had been completed without a hitch. It went perfectly, if he did say so himself. All that training…

The door was yanked open, and there Eryk stood, with his greying hair and his big smile. “Julian! Come in!”

Julian followed him in and sat down at the chair opposite Eryk’s desk. The room was as beautiful, all deep woods and well-crafted furniture. Suiting for a headmaster such as Eryk. The smart type with a heart of gold.

“Benen gave us all a debrief on how your mission went. In and out as quickly as a selkiemore can gobble you up.” Eryk chuckled brightly. “No raised attention, no guards after you, a seemingly clean and easy kill. Better than most on their first try, and no doubt because of how long your training has gone on for, and how dedicated you are.” He sat back in his chair. “For that reason, not only will we be sending you out at the end of the week, but you have been chosen for the mutations.”

Julian sucked in a breath, all in a rush. “What… really? Me?”

“Yes, you. You’re good, you deserve this honour.”

“But there’s Master Assassins who haven’t had this honour…” His eyes were wide, trying to comprehend. “I shouldn’t…”

“Julian, trust me, there are few in our history who were ready to go as you are at the end of their training. It’s like you’ve already been an Assassin for years now.” Eryk leant forward. “Please, believe me when I say you’re good at this. Legendary Assassins in our history never had enough time to do their work, but you will. We need people like you, who are incredibly loyal. You’ve reread every book in this school over eight times. I know you, and I know you will serve us well.”

Julian nodded, smiling slightly to himself. “Thank you, Eryk, thank you so much. I will make you proud.”

“I have no doubt.” Eryk steepled his fingers. “Now… your mutations will take place tonight. I would suggest you talk Benen, make sure everything is ready.” He picked up a pile of papers. “Meanwhile, I’ll have a think of where to send you.”

“Until later, Headmaster.” Julian stood and bowed out.

As soon as he was in the corridor he burst brightly with a smile. He ran through the school, getting strange looks from the other students, but he didn’t care. He skidded into Benen’s office, glad to find him there, reading upon his armchair. He lit up at the sight of Julian.

“So… the mutagens,” he said with a smile.

Julian stepped closer, resisting the urge to jump for joy. “I am so honoured to be given this chance. More than that, I can’t wait to show everyone that they are right to believe in me.”

Benen gestured to the armchair opposite him, so he sat. “You’ve trained for a long time. You showed your skills at Gelibol, you proved me right, lad. This is your beginning, and you’ve wasted no time in making it all worthwhile.”

“I couldn’t have done it without you.”

“Every student needs a mentor, but you were always naturally gifted. All those books you read did serve you well in the early days.”

Julian laughed, thinking back to when he’d shocked Benen with skills no nine year old should have had. “They really did. And rereading them served me even better.”

“They did.” Benen closed his book and stood, putting it away in the bookshelf beside him. “Have you thought on your new robes? Your father has gotten you amazing bracers, but you can’t go around wearing your training robes forever.”

“It’s time to write my letter to the seamstresses in Yspaden?”

“It is.” Benen waved Julian over to his desk. “Come on, I’ll help you write it.”

They pulled two chairs together and worked on the letter. Julian decided for the drip and drab of the world that brown was a suitable colour. Of course, he’d keep his red sash, and have a red and dark blue detailing and lining for the robes. His boots were still serving him well, so he didn’t need to request new ones from the shoemaker. And his belts were fine too.

With the letter done, Benen placed it in his to go pile, that would be sent off later today.

“Eryk suggested that you may be a good fit in Vizima,” Benen said, standing up and making his way back over to the bookcase. “Thinks a capital city will suit you best.”

No… No… That was all wrong. He… had wishes. Everyone in the school knew he was skilled with a lute. But he needed to learn more, to fit in. He could be a bard! Blend in with a different kind of cover. To everyone else he’d be a normal bard student, but to people who knew, he would be an Assassin.

“No, I have a better idea.” He squared his shoulders, ready to persuade. “Send me to Oxenfurt. I can learn at university while doing my work. Think about it, a bard can blend in.”

“Hide in plain sight.” Benen hummed. “I’ll talk with Eryk and see what he says.”

“Thank you. You know I wouldn’t request this if I didn’t think it was right. Assassins often don’t have jobs, this will give me an alias, a way into the lives of the rich without being seen as a noble myself. That way, I can easily sneak in and out without being seen.” He smirked. “After all, who pays attention to a bard when they are not singing?”

“Fair, Julian. You’ve made your point.”

Julian grinned. “Thanks, Mentor. You won’t regret this.”

“Hm. I know. You’re going to be a good Assassin, lad.” He sat at his desk. “Now, go prepare. Won’t be long till your mutagens. And remember, you need an empty stomach. You don’t want to make the same mistake I did.”

“I’ll remember, Mentor.” He bowed out and made his way through the house, running down to the gardens. He breathed in the fresh air of flowers and laughed happily. Ah, Oxenfurt would be a dream.

And once he was a better bard, he could move into travelling, able to learn more about the Templars around the Continent. To hone his knowledge further.

“I would not like to be at the end of your blade, brother,” Ada said, coming up behind him.

Julian turned and grinned. “So, you’ve heard?”

“I have. The end of the week…”

“Yeah. Everything is ready. I’ve written a letter for the seamstresses in Yspaden for my new robes as well.” He lifted his arm. “New bracers from my father too, a bit flashier, and improved, far sturdier than our training blades.”

Ada rolled her eyes. “Of course you’d rather it be flashy. Nice insignia by the way.” She gestured to the underside of his arm, where the hidden blade mechanism very obviously displayed their symbol.

“I like it.”

“Your father did a good job for you.” She clapped Julian on the arm. “Promise me something?”

“Anything, my friend.”

“If you ever find the Templar that killed my parents, rid this world of him. Other Assassins have tried, but they lose track of him every time.”

Julian frowned. Ada’s parents were killed in a fire set by a Templar, it had engulfed their house in seconds. They had gotten too close to the Grand Master in Cintra, and had been caught by surprise. “I promise. I’ll take down Cintra’s Grand Master too.”

“That’s a big ask. I only wish you to kill that one Templar.”

“A good few years training in the field, and I’ll be ready.”

Ada scoffed, amused, shaking her head. “You’re a crazy bastard, but I believe in you.”

He grinned. “Thank you, that means a lot.”

She rolled her eyes. “Which part?”

“Both.”

“Right, you’ve been here too long.”

“Indeed, I haven’t seen my home since I was barely six.” Julian glanced away, eyes finding the buttercups amongst the flowers. It still hurt, what felt like abandonment.

“I still can’t believe they sent you that young.”

He shrugged. “It was needed. I developed effective Eagle Vision when young.”

Ada stepped forward and hugged him. “Don’t forget about me when you become a big Master Assassin.”

He patted her back. “I’d never. And we have days yet.”

“I know, but still. You have been chosen for mutagens, that changes everything.”

“It changes nothing but my life span.”

She hummed and left it at that.

They stayed in the garden for a while, enjoying the sights of flowers. Julian shook a little, when the afternoon came, and soon Jaromir joined them. He got Julian to follow him, and his hands only shook more. He was scared, that was obvious. But as he was led to a room with a plush bed, it got easier to breathe. This was what he wanted, to be on a journey, to become one of the best.

“Now, Julian, this may be terrifying, but the mutagens do not hurt. We apply a sedative to keep you out when the mutations take hold.” Jaromir smiled. “You’ll wake up just the same as you are now.”

Julian stepped towards the bed, his head held high. “Just… a longer life span, and better stamina.”

“Just that.”

Julian calmed more so, and sat on the bed. Jaromir gestured to him, and he lay back. Dragging a table full of supplies over to the bed, Jaromir sat on the edge. He fiddled with his equipment for a minute before turning back.

“Relax. I’ll give the sedative now. Count back from ten?”

Julian breathed in deeply. “Ten.” Something pierced his neck, he winced. “Nine. Eight. Seven. Six… F– Five… Four. Th–”

He was out like a light.

\--

Julian opened his eyes and stretched. His stomach was sore and– Oh. He turned his head to the window, light was streaming in. Morning then. He shifted, slipping the covers back. There was a rough red mark at his wrist, clearly from where the needle had been injected into his veins. His robes had been taken off him, and were now hung up on a hook by the door. He got up and pulled them on, grabbing his bracers from the chest of drawers beside him.

The weight of his hidden blades upon his forearms were a welcome feeling after the procedure.

He left the room and immediately bummed into Jaromir.

“Oh!” Jaromir exclaimed. “You’re awake? Already?”

Julian furrowed his brow. “Yes…”

“Never seen someone wake up so quickly.” Jaromir placed a hand at his shoulder. “Come, child, Eryk wanted to see you as soon as you woke.”

Julian smiled. “Ah, good. That’s good, isn’t it?”

“Yes. You must begin preparations to leave.”

Julian grinned now. Finally. To be in the world, doing the work of an Assassin… He was endlessly excited. He’d learnt, trained, and worked himself to his limits. He needed to get out of the school and into the wild. Where his skills could be used.

They arrived at Eryk’s door swiftly. Jaromir gestured to it, and Julian entered, hands behind his back.

“Ah! Julian! Benen made your case, and I’m sending you to Oxenfurt.” He sealed a letter, adding it to a pile. He stood and rounded his desk, approaching. “You’ve woken up too soon, but that’s okay. Give me an hour, and we can send you on your way.”

Julian breathed in deep. “I’ll say goodbye to my friends.”

“Yes, best to. Come to the Altar in an hour, and we’ll being the ceremony.”

Julian nodded and left the room, running down the halls. He found Ada in the library, curled up on the cushions by the window. The book she was reading appeared to be the codex pages (rewritten of course) from an Assassin long gone, name almost forgotten entirely.

He stood tall. “It’s time.”

Ada snapped her book shut and bolted up, her lips parted. “You’re awake…”

“They want me to go in an hour.”

“Shit…” She ran towards him, colliding into him with a hug. “I love you, my friend.”

Julian curled his arms around her, closing his eyes. “I love you too. I’m sure our paths will meet again.”

“I hope they do.” She back away and gripped his shoulder. “You’re going to be a good Assassin, I can feel it.”

He ducked his head, smiling. “I just want to prove them right.”

“You already have done, believe that.” She patted his shoulder twice. “Come on, let’s find Bradwr before you have to go.”

They went running down the halls, searching every nook and cranny, only to find Bradwr in the training grounds, sparring with another student. Both were using swords and were looking equally matched. Julian and Ada slowed as they neared, watching as Bradwr disarmed the other student and pointed his sword at his neck.

“Ah, fuck,” the student said.

“Good strategy.” Bradwr lowered his sword. “In a few years you’ll be as good as me.”

Ah, one of the younger ones, that made sense. The student shook Bradwr’s hand and left the training grounds, sword sheathed.

“Hey, Bradwr!” Julian shouted. “I’m leaving!”

Bradwr turned to him with a furrowed brow. “Oh, no way, already?!” He vaulted over the training ground’s fence. “I heard you were going at the end of the week, but not so soon.”

“Yeah, they’re sending me early.”

“Fuck this.” He pulled Julian in for a quick hug. “It was nice knowing you. I hope you the real world treats you well.”

Julian playfully elbowed Bradwr’s stomach. “We’ll meet again.”

Bradwr grinned. “We better.” He rested his sword on his shoulder. “When are you going?”

“Soon.” He glanced to the school building, the gardens lay on the other side of its grounds. “I should get going.”

Ada clapped her hands together. “I’m not letting you leave without another hug.”

Julian chuckled and hugged Ada again, whispering, “I will make good on our promise.”

“I know you will,” she whispered back.

He pulled away from her, taking a couple steps back. He nodded to her, to Bradwr. “Until next time.”

“Until then,” they both replied with nods of their own.

Julian reluctantly left them behind and made his way back through the school to the gardens, picking up his lute from his room on the way (it was the only other thing he had). It was spring so the gardens were full of life, with flowers blooming brightly. He brushed his fingers against petals and slowly walked through the winding stone paths surrounded by greenery. He made his way to the buttercups and touched one gently, smiling at the yellow glow it cast on his fingertips.

He would miss summers here, when the garden peeked in its bloom, and he could walk calmly, run freely, and smell all that the nurtured gardens had on offer. From the trees to the bushes to the flowers. He would miss it all.

Straightening up, he tilted his head back and glanced all around, to the school building, to all the plants around him.

“I’ll miss this…” he whispered, and with tears in his eyes he nodded and bit his lip. It was time to go, to leave this place and become who he was.

He turned and ran, quickly scrambling up the outer wall. Positioned atop it, he noticed everyone was gathered at the Altar… It was time. He jumped off the wall and rolled to his feet, running over with practiced ease. Eryk lit up on his approach, arms stretch outwards.

“Julian! Welcome!” he exclaimed, standing behind the stone table. Upon the table was a ring. An Assassin ring… of course. An age old tradition that stemmed from no longer cutting off fingers or burning them either. Which seemed unlikely that it ever happened, but it did. “We are glad this day as come.”

Benen smiled privately. The other mentors stood around the Altar.

“You know them well, but the words I am about to relay are at the very heart of the Creed. You would do well to remember them.” Eryk tilted his head back, eyes peering down at Julian. “Stay your blade from the flesh of an innocent. Hide in plain sight, be one with the crowd. Never compromise the Brotherhood.” He picked up the ring, turning it as if to examine it. “Where others blindly follow the truth, remember…”

Julian cupped his hands behind his back. “Nothing is true.”

“Where others are limited by morality or law, remember…”

“Everything is permitted.”

Eryk smiled slightly. “We work in the dark to serve the light. We are Assassins.”

All the mentors put their fists to their chests, as did Julian, and they all said, “We are Assassins.”

“Julian, step close and extend your left hand.”

He did so, and Eryk delicately took his hand, sliding the ring upon his ring finger. It was silver, with the mark of the Assassins clear in red.

“You are now an Assassin, child.” Eryk looked to Benen. “Get his horse?”

Benen disappeared and soon returned with the white horse Julian had picked before. The gelding had served him well, and he would be happy to take him. Benen handed him the reins, and Julian stroked the horse’s neck. Hmm. He’d name him Pegasus.

“Now _go_ ,” Eryk stressed. “You are all ready and set, be off to Oxenfurt.”

Julian nodded and mounted Pegasus. He smiled down at the Assassins who had trained him, nurtured him, who had made him who he was today. “Thank you all. I wish you well.”

“We wish you well too,” Eryk said with a smile. “ _Go_.”

He urged Pegasus into a trot and left the Blue Mountains behind for the first time in eleven years.

\--

Julian jumped down from the open section of the roof, made clear with an insignia. The Bureau of Oxenfurt. It was a house with a few floors but no door (it had a fake one, however, to blend in). The only way in was through the roof. He made his way down to what appeared to be the common room, and a man jumped up from an armchair, white robes swaying.

“Ah, you must be Julian! Welcome!” the man said, approaching him quickly. The other Assassins in the room paid them no mind.

Julian glanced around the room. It was a very nice bureau, and fit with his knowledge of Oxenfurt. “Thank you. Where will I be staying?”

“Right here, at the bureau. Like every Assassin in city. My name is Marceli. Come along, I’ll show you to your room.”

Marceli guided Julian back to an upper floor, taking him down a corridor to a room at one end. It was fairly small and only had one single bed in it. There was a wardrobe and desk, but that was it. Bare bones. But all an Assassin needed really. A little less than what he had at the school, but this was the real world.

Julian placed his lute down on the bed and glanced around. The lighting was good, and there was enough space for late night exercise as well. “What is my first point of call? I want to get a degree in poetry to evolve my bard cover, but if you need me to do something else–”

“Ah, no, I have been briefed, and it’s a fantastic idea! Go to the professor of Supernatural Phenomena. Tell him I sent you. He’ll get you in.”

“Thank you, Marceli.”

“You’re welcome. Please do ask for my advice at any time.” Marceli smiled. “And when you’ve settled, I’ll give you your first mission.” He gestured to the wardrobe. “Benen gave me details of your measurements and tastes, there should be a good choice of clothes in there.”

Julian stepped towards the wardrobe and yanked it open, grinning as he found vibrant doublets and chemises with fine embroidery. “Wow, Marceli, this is a wonderful selection.”

“Why thank you. I’ll see you later.”

“See you later…” Julian murmured, eyes glued to the clothes.

The real world was far different from what he knew, and he was excited to get to know it. He glanced down at his robes, the seamstress in Yspaden had done a flawless job. He fiddled with his bracers, his father had clearly taken inspiration from old designs and had made it suit Julian’s love of history and his flare. He… was an Assassin now.

And it was time for him to get a new education. One of poetry, and learning how to blend amongst normal people. Real world training… It was something he’d been waiting for since he was nine.

Now it was here… he was more than ready.


	3. Oxenfurt

He’d been in Oxenfurt for six months now and had gotten well educated in how much people were dicks to each other. One student in his class, Valdo Marx, was a rich pompous prat that believed Julian to be lower class, claiming his clothes made it so. Not that his clothes were cheap or inexpensive, they weren’t, but Valdo believed anyone who lacked a noble birth to be unworthy of his presence. His friends thought just the same.

Julian hated him.

At least the other students were much more… compassionate. Yeah, that was the right word. He liked the other people in his classes, just Valdo and his friends weren’t to his liking. They came from very different backgrounds and were very different people. So he mostly stayed out of Valdo’s way.

Besides, one day of classes wasn’t going to get his mood down. Not today. Marceli had called him to his office, and he was _sure_ it was for an assassination. Surely as a way to prove himself. One assassination did not tell the whole story of an Assassin and surely the leader of a bureau wanted to judge the skills and abilities of all their people themself.

After he’d eaten and changed into his robes, he made his way to Marceli’s office, knocking on the closed door once he got there.

“Come in!” Marceli called and Julian entered, finding Marceli reading a book at his desk. “Ah, Julian, I have a task for you.” He placed the book down and stood. “A Templar from Temeria by the name of Amelda is visiting the city today. According to reconnaissance, she has business with the university. Why, I’m not sure. It would help if you could find that out, but if not, we’ll work it out anyhow. She’s staying at the Three Little Bells and is wearing a red coat with the Templar cross embroidered onto it. Kill her.”

Julian nodded. “Do you know which room, and is she still there now?”

“No, we don’t, and as far as I know, yes.”

“I’ll be back soon then.” He turned to go.

“No wait!” Julian stopped in his tracks and raised an eyebrow at Marceli. “I forgot to give you a handkerchief.”

Julian stepped closer to the desk. “Handkerchief?”

Marceli opened a drawer and pulled a white handkerchief out, handing it to Julian. “It’s a tradition here to prove a kill by dipping a handkerchief into the target’s blood.” He smiled. “I wish you luck, Julian.”

“Thank you.”

He made his way out and took to the rooftops. Six months had told him a lot. Oxenfurt _breathed_. There were people all over the place all the time who talked, and if one listened, they could gain a wealth of information. There were also parties all the time at various different noble student’s houses. The taverns were always busy, always loud. It was a city of opportunities, and where there was opportunity, there were Templars.

He ran across the rooftops, out of sight of anyone below. The Three Little Bells wasn’t far, and by the time he’d reached the centre of town by rooftop alone, he vaulted down and approached on foot. He couldn’t reach the inn from the rooftops, so he’d have to climb up it. The evening was in full bloom, so people would be too busy getting home or too busy being drunk to pay Julian any mind.

As he neared, he ran, and clambered up the side of the building. He clung onto the first window ledge he saw and peered into the room. A couple were in bed, not his target. He threw himself over to the next window and peered in. A man was inside, not his target. A few windows over and he found a woman at a desk, red coat on. Slipping into his Eagle Vision, she turned up gold.

Good.

He deployed his hidden blade and very quietly pushed it through the small gap in the window, pushing up to unlatch its lock. Gently, he opened the window and climbed in, smoothly walking across the room, towards her. The coat had a Templar cross on it, this was definitely Amelda. He came to a stop behind her, and sliced his hidden blade across her throat. She instantly felt for her neck.

Julian caught her as she slid off her seat and held onto her as he brought her to the ground. She looked to him with wide eyes, then settled as she likely noticed what had happened. She coughed and shook her head.

“Finally… I’ve been cut down.” A cruel smile took to her lips. “I would have thought I had been marked for death years ago.”

“You left yourself open...” He peered down at her. “What were you doing in Oxenfurt?”

Amelda laughed. “Asking questions after the killing blow isn’t smart.”

“You have time.”

Her eyes darkened at that. “You think us Templars do not occupy Oxenfurt, or wish to? I was planning on making a name here, after all, living in the shadow of Redanian’s Grand Master is hardly fair.”

“Hm, and your talk with the university?”

“To buy them off and provide a new type of education.”

He scoffed. “Your New World.”

Amelda scowled at him. “Our New World will bring peace.”

“And yet you’d rule over us! That is no New World, that is no life for the people. Peace should never take away freedom.”

“It should, because humanity is _weak_.”

Julian rolled his eyes at the notion. “And Templars are weaker for ever thinking such a thing. We grow as people, your New World would ensure people never have the free will to make choices.”

“Your wrong, Assassin. We want for the same thing, peace… Do you never think our goals can align? I think of it, I believed it.”

“ _No_ , order is not the same as freedom. And for that reason, we could never join forces.”

She smiled, colour drained from her skin. “A shame… I always wondered.”

He hummed. “Wonder no more.”

As the blood soaked into her clothes, it seeping from her neck, she closed her eyes, head falling back. Julian rested her down, bowing his head. He didn’t care that another Templar was dead, _that was good_. But they were taught to respect the dead, and _that_ mattered. They were still people, no matter how wrong they were.

He took out the handkerchief and stained it with her blood, standing after. “I hope you find peace…”

When he returned to the bureau there was a feeling of victory to be had, but there was also… a draining feeling. He’d taken another life, just like that, and it couldn’t be forgotten, lest he become what the Assassins fought against. Yet strangely, there was fun to be had. His skills in freerunning added a light and joy to his life. Violence… let him distress, in the form of training of course. He’d never actually been in open combat. His only two assassinations had gone down without a hitch.

Julian strode into Marceli’s office with triumph and whipped out the handkerchief. “It’s done.”

Marceli glanced up from the letter he was currently writing. His eyes steadied on the handkerchief, and he burst into a grin. “And not a city bell to be heard… You don’t look out of breath from a fight… And your sword is clean.”

Julian couldn’t help but glance down at the useless sword at his side. “That’s just for show.”

“Do you know how to use the thing?”

“Of course I do, doesn’t mean I’ll ever use it.” Julian cupped his hands behind his back. “Would you like the debrief?”

“Absolutely!”

“I found Amelda at Three Little Bells by looking through windows. She was at a desk, turned away from the window. Quietly, I unlatched the lock and opened the window, climbing in. I approached with caution and slit her throat. She died in my arms.” Julian tilted his head, recalling her words. “She said she was here to buy off the university and provide a new education, for their New World. I have no doubt that the university would have been used to teach only that, and not have its many departments. She also said she was planning to make a name here.”

Marceli steepled his fingers, nodding. “Thank you, Julian, that’s insightful. I’ll inform the Council of this. She was a person of interest as she was close to the Grand Master of Redania.”

“I figured that.”

“Right, well.” Marceli pulled out a new piece of paper and began writing straight away. “I’ll get this letter written. Have a good night.”

“You too, Marceli.”

He left the room knowing he had done a good job. Not only had his assassination been successful but Marceli had been impressed. That meant he could be seen as a possible reliable Assassin for certain missions. Perhaps he would be picked out for more assassinations in the future, when more Templars came to town.

For now, it appeared they were Templar free, which was a good thing… Wasn’t it? It meant there was no work… but they were protecting the city, keeping it safe from the enemy. That was _good_.

\--

Julian hadn’t gotten a chance to shine since his last assassination, _one and a half years ago_. Just two Templars dead at age nineteen didn’t seem like a lot. It didn’t seem like things were going quick enough for him. His peers were being sent out, but he wasn’t. He was itching for it, to do his duty. But Marceli claimed he needed to focus on being a student if he wanted to learn how to blend in better and learn more social skills. So, he sucked it up… for now.

He was busy walking through the university grounds after lunch, ready for his afternoon classes, when he spotted Valdo in the distance. He ignored him, however, keeping his head down as he walked. Not that he could really stay incognito when it came to Valdo, as he always seemed to catch Julian from a mile away. Sometimes he wondered if that was because of his bright blue doublets (those were his favourite, after all).

As he neared, Valdo made a move, walking towards him, bumping right into him. Julian grumbled, sighing. Not _this_ again. He honestly could not be arsed with Valdo’s bully tactics. He acted more like a child than an adult, and more like an arsehole than a valiant young man (which he pretended to be).

“Sorry, Julian. I don’t see low class people very well,” Valdo mocked.

Julian raised an eyebrow. “Sure, Valdo. Lower class…” He clenched his fist, staying his blade was hard when Valdo taunted him.

“Don’t test me by talking back.”

“Uh-huh.” Julian turned and made his way to class the long away around.

He did this by making his way to the outer parts of the grounds and climbing up the building his class was in. He clambered through the window of the upper floor unseen and slipped into class minutes before Valdo. His smug expression did not go unseen when Valdo did arrive, and he was _fuming_. Understandably, because he thought he was superior to Julian, to everyone.

The class was the same as always these days. Analyse a piece of poetry, take inspiration from it, and write a poem in the same theme. Today’s poem was about sacrifice. Julian smiled he know this well. The life of an Assassin was sacrifice. A normal life, one normal people craved, just didn’t exist. Most Assassins would die young, while others would live either a double life, or would put their children at risk. Others, the ones that had been selected for the mutations, however, lived for centuries. There was no normal there.

Julian was one of the… well, he wouldn’t say lucky, but he was one of the few ever chosen. He’d excelled at his training, in a way others could never achieve. Supposedly, the best any school had seen since the ancient and legendary Assassin Hastings. He credited most of his skill to being sent at such a young age. And that he’d been dedicated to his studies (not that he had any other choice, if he wanted to stay sane while in the isolated school). He believed in the Creed entirely too, and knew what its important messages really meant.

So, he knew sacrifice.

He was halfway through his analysis of the prechosen poem, when he accidentally began to eavesdrop. Valdo was being loud, but not loud enough to be heard by the entire class. Besides, Julian was trained to listen.

“Sacrifice is stupid. So many sacrifice themselves for the wrong causes. And what does it gain? Nothing. They’ll lose, always. Order is what’s needed, not the freedom they want.”

His friends appeared to agree, and Julian narrowed his eyes. Wha… the… Spoken like a Templar. It was certainly the Templar ideology. He put it on the backburner for now, and swiftly finished his work, creating a poem about sacrificing your life for a greater cause, for the freedom the heart needed to understand.

Making a quick excuse to his professor, he quietly made his way back to the bureau, but was quick in his return. Barging in, he ran through the place till he found Marceli in the kitchen, cooking up a stew.

“Ah, Julian,” he exclaimed, setting the spoon down in the stew, “you’re home early.”

“I think Valdo Marx is a Templar. Permission to send a carrier pigeon to my parents?”

Marceli’s eyebrows pulled together. “Valdo Marx? Your bully?”

“I overheard him talk about order, as if he wanted to force it on people, and that the people did not need freedom.”

Marceli’s expression fell. “Sounds Templar. Valdo Marx is noble, correct?”

“He is.”

“Then send a letter to your parents. If there’s a bard in training who is a Templar, it bodes ill. The more they get their message out, the more people will be deceived and will want to join them.”

“Right.” Julian breathed, already composing the letter in his head. “If he is a Templar… then anyone can be.”

“The point, Julian. They blend, just like us.”

Well, that wasn’t exactly good to hear. “Hm. I’ll send the letter.”

Marceli picked the spoon back up and began stirring once again. “Be careful while we wait. Do not let Valdo suspect you’re onto him.”

Julian curtly nodded. “Of course. Do not worry, Marceli. I know.”

\--

_‘The Marx family are well known to be dicks, but to be Templars? That is unknown, son. I did some digging, and talked to contacts in Cidaris. The Marx family have been known to own halfling slaves and have had contact with well-known Templars before. Make your judgement. Find out if he is, and if so… kill him._

_Eleanor Pankratz.’_

“Well then,” Marceli began, glancing over Julian’s shoulder, “what did they say?”

Julian let the words sink in and thinned his lips. “He could be, but it isn’t clear. I will have to do my own research.”

“Then I suggest you break into his house.”

Just what he was thinking… “I’ll get going.”

Marceli rounded on Julian, facing him. His expression was schooled into a more serious one. “Do be careful, Julian. You’re still training.”

Julian grinned, spreading his arms out. “It’s fine, Marceli. I know what I’m doing.”

He left the bureau behind and ran for Valdo’s house. He may have found out where he lived when he tailed him home once… Which was entirely justified at the time. He, deep down, did not want his bardic rival to be a Templar. If he was, he had to die. Which would be a real shame, because Julian believed the stories of their rivalry would make his cover even better.

He pulled his hood up as he neared, weaving his way through the crowds carefully, fully blending with them. As he came close, he ducked down a back alley and climbed up the building. He reached the window that lead to Valdo’s room, and slipped into his Eagle Vision. He found no people inside. It was most likely safe.

He deployed his hidden blade and slipped it along the seams of the window, unlatching it. He pushed it open and made his way in. The room had a good few glows of white, and so, he began his investigation.

A letter on a desk told him this was Valdo’s room, and upon the letter – which was to his parents – the words ‘May the Father of Understanding guide us’ lay at the end.

A drawing of a person with a hood up was tucked into a drawer, and the drawing itself was distorted, with crosses over the eyes, and a red dye used for what he presumed was blood.

An unfinished musing in his song journal spoke of a New World.

Under his bed was a sword with blood on it, fresh.

And the most damning evidence… a Templar cross, tucked into one of his doublets.

Valdo Marx… a Templar. What a shame.

He jumped out of the window, closing it behind him. He climbed up to the roof and took in the city before him. Templars… here… It was bad. The knowledge held here, it needed to be protected, and Templars were eager to ensure only their propaganda got out. Marx had to go.

He ran along the rooftops at a quick pace, hopping over the gaps with ease, and slipping into the bureau undetected. He approached Marceli, who was in the common room, quickly. He was reading a book, legs crossed. All too peaceful.

“He’s a Templar,” Julian said, firm.

Without looking away from his book. Marceli pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and flung it at Julian. “I’m sure you can work out how to kill him.”

Julian caught and tucked the handkerchief into his robes. “I already have a plan.”

“Then go forth, Julian. Claim your third target.”

Julian nodded and made his way back to the rooftops, to the highest point in the city. He took note of all he could see. The people, the bustling city, and the sounds they all made. It was easy to use his Eagle Vision to listen into conversations from up here. He just had to focus _really hard_.

“Have you heard the new students? They sound so full of knowledge.”

“Well they should be with your teaching.”

No.

“Hi there! Can you believe how long it’s been? Three years, brother!”

“Not ya fucking brother, but it has been too long.”

“Did you get the news on Grandma E?”

“Yeah. Us lads are gonna miss her.”

“May the Lynxes miss he always.”

No. Just some gang.

He leaped off the building, falling into the haycart with practised ease. He hopped out and walked slowly through the town. He wasn’t going to get anywhere from up high. He had to be amongst the people. There were many conversations, none of which helped with where Valdo was right now.

Until he got within the university walls. A man with a sword at his side was talking to a woman with throwing knives at her shoulder.

He rushed behind one of the many buildings surrounding the two, and listened in.

“Valdo wants us patrolling the grounds at night now. Apparently, there’s an Assassin presence here,” the man said, quiet.

The woman laughed. “An Assassin presence, here? That’s ridiculous. We wiped them out in Redania years ago. Those last couple of Templar deaths here were just flukes.”

“Well, Valdo thinks there is, and you know how he take orders from the boss.”

“He takes orders from his father, who’s not even here. He’s still a kid.” The woman folded her arms, laughing again. “I have more experience, and I’m telling you, there are no Assassins here.”

“Hm, well, I hope you’re right. Because if there is, and we doubt it, we’re dead.” The man mimed a slit across his throat.

“Oh, come on, you’re being dramatic.” She angled her head. “Let’s go, better get to the library before Valdo kills us.”

“Don’t tell me you’re scared of him.”

“I’m not, but he could call in the big boys, and I’m scared of _them_.”

Huh… The library must have been there meeting point, a strange choice, but well covered. He tailed them into the university building that house the library, well-practised movements… Definitely their meeting point. They looked like no nonsense people, so he had to be careful in his approach here.

Preferably, he’d take them out before Valdo, as they were most likely hardier and more skilled than Valdo Marx could ever wish to be. So, he whistled as they reached a set of stairs, in the hope the man was paranoid enough to investigate.

“Did you hear that?” he asked, turning back to the stairs they’d just gotten to the top of.

The woman, again, scoffed. “Go investigate, you big child. I’ll tell Valdo why you’re late.”

The man rolled his eyes. “Okay. You go on.”

Once he made his way down the stairs, Julian ducked out from his hiding place beside them, and covered the man’s mouth, stabbing him in the back. He went down like a brick. Julian crept his way up the stairs, and through the door at the top. It led into a long hallway. A lot of professors had their offices on this floor, and the library was at one end, where a set of stairs led up to it.

He noticed the woman walking calmly, completely unaware. He ran almost silently down the corridor, and knocked her down, stabbing her right in the neck. He adjusted his hood, pulling it down further as he made his way up to the library. Entering his Eagle Vision, he found a glowing gold pacing up and down the length of one bookcase.

Julian sighed, he took no great pleasure in this, but stopping the Templars was his purpose, and had been since he’d found out about them at age six.

He clambered atop a bookcase and jumped between each one, reaching Valdo’s location. He deployed his hidden blade and jumped down, striking Valdo in the neck, as he broke his fall. He crouched beside him, holding his body in his arms as Valdo coughed, blood dripping from his wound. Just slow enough to have a good conversation before he bled out.

“An Assassin!” Valdo crowed. “I knew it!”

“What are you planning next?”

“What do you think, Assassin? Order. We’re going to use the Sorcerers to get what we need, as soon as we convince them of their errors.”

“And you? What would you have done?”

Valdo’s brow furrowed, and he reached up, knocking Julian’s hood. Not enough to bring it down, but enough for him to see. “Julian?” He laughed. “Gods, I’ve been killed by a poor boy.”

“Not poor. Noble, like you. But it shouldn’t matter.” He stared down at him, watching his skin grow cold. “Tell me.”

“I was to spread our message, get more people to join us. Get people to give up their free will.”

Julian snarled. “Why? There are many of you, isn’t there?”

“Not as many as you think. You Assassins keep cutting us down.” Valdo sneered. “Well done for taking me out, but I’m only a small part our plan. You’ll see, one day, that we need order, not freedom. You breed chaos.”

Julian hummed. “Rather chaos than die in servitude to people who take freedom from others.”

“Fool,” Valdo spat out, his eyes closing, head falling back. And… he was dead.

Julian pulled the handkerchief out, wiping it across his neck. “May you find freedom from your chains in death.”

He readjusted his hood as he stood, placing Valdo down. He left swiftly, through one of the library’s many balconies, scaling down the building. The sun was beginning to set now, and Julian slipped back into the city unseen, blending with the crowds, and taking to the rooftops to make it back home.

Marceli greeted him in the common room. “Is it done?”

Julian showed him the bloody handkerchief. “It’s done. Valdo told me that the Templars planned to use him to recruit new members, by spreading their message. He also hoped that people would willingly give up their freedom.”

“Hmm, dangerous. I wouldn’t be surprised if Valdo was only one of many meant for that task, though the others may be at different universities.”

“I also took out his right hand men. One was convinced of the Assassin presence here, the other still believed they’d wiped us out in this region.”

“Interesting…” Marceli thinned his lips. “We’ve been rather quiet lately, and you haven’t stirred up any trouble…”

Julian shrugged. “According to one of them, it was Valdo’s paranoia.”

“Paranoia or not, expect a greater Templar presence soon. Especially once Valdo’s death gets out.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, for now, I need rest.”

“Well deserved, I’d say.”

If Julian had learnt anything today, it was that Templars seemed to believe themselves right. Colston did not regret using slavery. Amelda was convinced Templars and Assassins could align due to their goal of peace. And Valdo believed in the New World. If only they weren’t so ready to make people suffer. Maybe then they could be reasoned with, but there was no such hope.

\--

It had been five years since he’d first arrived here, and Julian was fed _up_. Oxenfurt had grown old and boring. The rooftops were burnt into his brain, the high points no longer interesting, the education had outstayed its welcome. He had two degrees under his belt, and he was _bored_. As bored as he was at the school when he was younger.

He was twenty-two and only four Templars had fallen to his blade. Colston, Amelda, Valdo, and Isabella. The latter being a Templar he’d taken out last year, when the Grand Master had come to town with his forces. All the Assassins in Oxenfurt had worked together to ensure his close allies and that the Grand Master himself would fall. Isabella had appeared to be a mage, which begged the question of why the New World hadn’t already come from her (perhaps they needed more mages on side).

Regardless of that, Julian had killed Isabella and she, like the others, claimed to have been doing the right thing. For peace. As if Templars knew what such a thing was.

He stood before Marceli, chin raised, shoulders squared. “Please… let me go, let me do this.”

Marceli sighed out, jaw clenched. “Last time. No.” He walked away, brushing past Julian. He headed up the stairs, trying to _escape_. But it wasn’t that easy.

“Oh, _come on_. Have you seen what honours I graduated with? _Twice._ ” Julian followed Marceli through the bureau, gaining strange looks from the other Assassins.

“You’re out of your mind, Julian. Assassins are stationed in cities for a reason.”

“No, you’re wrong, we’re stagnant staying in the same place.”

Marceli whirled to a stop just as he was about to head up to the next floor. “Then I can send you elsewhere? Cintra, Kerack, Beauclair?”

“No. I want to travel. Think about it from a…” He clicked his fingers, trying to find the right comparison, “a witcher point of view. They travel around to where work is.”

“You have work here.”

“Periodically. It’s not enough for me. Let. Me. Travel. What’s so wrong with a travelling Assassin? I already have a respectable cover as a bard. Bards travel. I can change my name too. I won’t be known as Julian Alfred Pankratz. Instead…” He smiled to himself. He knew exactly what to call himself. “Instead I’ll be Jaskier. Come on, Marceli, what is your true objection to this?”

“It isn’t our way!” He matched Julian’s heated expression, spinning on his heel. He walked up the next set of stairs and Julian followed. The library was up here, and Marceli headed right towards it. The doors were wide open, and some of the other Assassins were taking a peek at them.

“Well maybe the way is wrong for me, maybe I need to move,” Julian protested as they came to a stop in the hallway. “After all, not being in one place means the Templars will never gain any knowledge on me.”

“But you may lose out on crucial learning.”

Julian shook his head, amused. “I’m sure travels will bring me much experience.”

Marceli waved dismissively, a knit in his brow that hadn’t gone away since Julian first mentioned this ten minutes ago now. “Then ride out for the Redanian Council and take it up with them. They will decide whether your idea is feasible or not. I’m not being responsible for this.”

Julian grinned, triumphantly. “Brilliant. I’ll be gone come morning.”

Marceli sank into a chair. “Just be careful. Your enthusiasm for the work will get you killed.”

“No, it won’t, because that enthusiasm keeps me going, keeps me training.”

He left the room and ignored all the stares from other Assassins. They didn’t understand like he did. To move meant to evolve. To stand still would become as stale as a song being played twenty-one times in a row. He had to learn the ways of the Assassins in all kingdoms, and that meant he had to go.

So, he went.

\--

Julian hopped off Pegasus and tied her at the trough in front of the hall that was the Council. Disguised as a shop. Just a front. He popped into the building and pushed his hood down, noting the red haired woman behind the counter. Her earrings were the insignia, but were a little more incognito as they were shaped more like triangles. It was still clear enough for an Assassin to tell.

“You look scared, laddie,” she said.

He shook his head and leant on the counter. “Not scared, just nervous.”

“And what’s the difference?”

“Nerves are good for what’s ahead.” He nodded to the door behind her. “Are they in today? I need to ask them something.”

The woman folded her arms. “And where are you from, laddie?”

“Many places, but I came from the bureau in Oxenfurt.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Ah, we received a letter. You’re Julian.”

“I am.”

She stepped towards the door and pushed it open. “Vault over. They’ve been expecting you.”

Julian vaulted over and made his way through the door. If a letter had been sent then Marceli had endeavoured to warn them after Julian went off on his own. Going against a good few rules Assassins followed in this modern age. They fought for freedom and were bound by rules themselves, a paradox if there ever was one. Even still, he wanted this, and he was going to fight for it.

Beyond the door was a corridor, which opened up to a large hall, where four men and women sat at a table on a raised platform. Playing a game of Gwent if he was seeing correctly. These Assassins were at the end of their careers, too old to do anything but guide the future of the Brotherhood in this kingdom. All were Masters.

A man scrambled up at the sight of his arrival, coming down the steps to stand before Julian. He was none other than the almost legendary Aleksy. The stories said he’d dismantled a Templar plot to cause a doomsday level event in Cintra. (Apparently the Templars had wanted to take the most powerful seat in the Continent. It made sense, with Cintra, they could do anything.)

“Hello there! I’m Aleksy.” He gestured to his fellows. “This is Elwira, Idalia, and Lesław.”

Elwira, another amazing Assassin, who had ensured the Brotherhood of Sorcerers would be their allies.

Idalia, who had once been said to slay more Templars than a witcher monsters.

And Lesław, the Assassin who had saved countless lives by improving the mutations to not only be one hundred percent successful, but to ensure none would die to them.

“Hello, I’m honoured to stand before you.” Julian cupped his hands behind his back. “I’m Julian, and I have a request to make, if you’ll allow it.”

“Then ask!” Aleksy bellowed, laughing.

Julian curtly nodded. “I would like to ask permission to travel instead of being stationed at Oxenfurt. That way, I endeavour to disguise myself as a travelling bard, but I will be a travelling Assassin in reality. I’ll be able to broaden my skills going to different places and taking on the Templars there at the time.” He placed his hands at his hips. “If I’m allowed to do this, I will undoubtedly be the best Assassin I can be.”

Aleksy smiled slowly. “Okay. You can travel then. I heard Toussaint needed help, right, Idalia?”

Idalia stood from the table, hands clapping together. “In Beauclair. Go there, to the bureau. They’ve seen a recent increase in Templar activity.”

Julian lit up, giddy from the prospect of being allowed. “Then I’ll be off. Straight to Beauclair.”

“Good luck, boy.” Aleksy grinned with glee. “And have the adventure you’re looking for.”

Julian nodded and began walking backwards. “Thank you. Until next time.” He pulled his hood up and turned around.

“We’ll be eager to hear of your successes!” Aleksy called and Julian smiled.

The council were far less daunting than he even imagined.


	4. Moving On And On

“And how does that feel?” Kai asked, standing near to Julian.

Julian stretched his arms back and forth, getting a good feel for the movement. “It’s good.” He reached back and pulled the hood up, smiling at how it felt so similar to the one stitched into his robes. “Kai, you’re a genius.”

“Thank you. Now, your doublet may be _slightly_ obvious, but then who is going to care too much about a bard wearing a hood?” Kai brushed down the doublet, likely knocking a scrap of dust off. He was a bit obsessive with how his clothes ended up looking, which was something Julian had discovered early on in their brief time working together. “I’ve made sure the chemise takes your hidden blades into account. Speaking of which!”

Kai dove to his counter, picking up two bracers from behind it. Though they weren’t the usual type. These were simply the hidden blade with an easily concealed attachment, designed to go under a sleeve rather than over it. Kai handed them to Julian, showing him the buckles and fastenings. Julian put them on and stretched in his doublet once again. He extended his arm to the side and flicked his wrist, rejoicing in the way the blade smoothly peeked out from underneath his clothes.

It worked flawlessly. He retracted the blade and gave his forearm a good pat. The blade could hardly be felt. Hidden, even to him.

“How is it?” Kai asked.

“It’s perfect.” Julian threw a pouch of coins over to Kai. “Thank you.”

Kai took the pouch behind his counter and shrugged. “You’re welcome, my friend. Beauclair will be forever grander with you here.”

Julian smiled. “I would hope so.” He flicked both his wrists and delighted in the way the hidden blades didn’t rip or tear at his clothes. “Your work is magnificent. The Assassins here must love you.”

Kai laughed, tilting his head back and forth. “I do get endlessly thanked. I’m just happy I’m able to help.”

“And you’ve certainly helped me. Can I bring the rest of my doublets to you for modification?”

“Of course, go ahead.”

“Thank you, _again_. I’ll bring the clothes over later on.” He turned to the door, breathing out. “For now, I have an old friend to meet.”

“Good luck,” Kai called as Julian left the shop.

He took to the rooftops in an instant, scaling up with ease. Getting to the bureau wasn’t hard, but he had avoided it since arriving here. After staking out the shop the Assassins used, and meeting Kai, he’d learnt many a thing of the Assassins here. Namely that Ada had been stationed in Beauclair. Not that Kai had mentioned her name, at first, but Julian had figured it out. After a little questioning, he found out he was correct.

So, in being here, he’d get to see Ada again. Which was both good and bad. Good because he had missed his best friend. And bad because he hadn’t even been given a chance to find the Templar that killed her parents. He didn’t want it to seem like he’d failed her.

As he approached the bureau, he noticed a few Assassins were on the rooftop, looking like they were shoving at each other, filled with laughter. In his time at Oxenfurt, he’d never seen nor experienced something like this… Were the Assassins more carefree here? A little less serious, more focussed on making life more than just what they were? Maybe. Or maybe these Assassins were the fun ones in the bunch.

He pulled his hood up in his approach, hoping to come off as an Assassin, as he was still wearing his doublet, his bard disguise… His robes and other belongings were locked away in the room he’d rented at an inn.

Of course, as he neared, he knew destiny was a cruel mistress… Ada was on the roof, laughing her head off. She was dressed in white robes, with the classic red sash around her waist and more belts than any Assassin would need to store their gear. Her bracers were red and had strengthening silver plates at the sides. She appeared to be much more mature, and she had filled out quite a bit more with muscle.

He jumped over to the bureau’s building, landing beside the group, who were sitting around a game of Dice. Ah… interesting. Ada looked up at him, her eyes widening. She jumped to her feet, just as the other Assassins stood – their hands finding their swords. Ada neared and knocked his hood off with a laugh, clapping him on the arm.

“Julian! You big threatening hulk!” She hugged him tight, but briefly, barely giving him time to hug back. “What the fuck are you doing in Beauclair?”

“I’m visiting.” He glanced to the other Assassins. “I was sent by the Redanian Council, they said you have a greater Templar presence here?”

Ada threw her head back, huffing with amusement. She turned to her friends. “This is Julian, the kid I went to school with. He’s highly skilled, and if he’s been sent down here to help, we can do a lot in a short space of time.”

One of the Assassins stood, he seemed to be quite old compared to the rest. Mid-forties perhaps? “We can add him to the team focussing on tracking down Robin Morin. Follow me, Julian, I’ll take you to the bureau leader.”

Julian nodded and followed. They entered the bureau and made their way to ground level. The leader was tapping her fingers off the table she was sitting at, reading a letter, in what seemed to be a dining room. The Assassin who’d lead him there caught the leader’s eyesight and gestured to Julian.

“This here is Julian, he’s been sent by the council in Redania.”

“I know,” the leader said, placing the letter down. Her tapping stopped. She looked to be a considerable age, perhaps dipping into her seventies. That was if she was living a normal life span, she could have been way older. “Aleksy sent a letter himself explaining why you were sent here. I have a target I want you to take out.”

The other Assassin nodded. “I suggest Robin Morin.”

“No, no, this Assassin is too skilled for such a lowly Templar as Robin Morin.” The leader stood. “I am Derica, please to meet you Julian Pankratz.”

Julian’s breath was taken from him in a rush. “ _Derica_. You’re the Assassin who singlehandedly liberated Toussaint a hundred years ago… You’re a legend.”

Derica humbly smiled, as if she were amused at Julian’s enthusiasm. “I am, and you’re the Assassin who was too young, and yet…” She waved away the other Assassin, who left, reluctantly, and with a slight scowl. “Don’t mind Alban there, he’s becoming a right old arse. Fancies himself to be a leader.”

Julian hummed. “Some have that ambition. I’m guessing he would have liked me to join that team?”

She nodded. “You would have outstayed your welcome with that team. They have a much slower approach, and if the rumours are true… you like to find your target and take them out with quick stealth, am I right?”

“You’re right.”

“Then I have a much bigger task for you. One I would have given to Alban, but since you’re here, I would like to test if the rumours are true.”

She picked up a walking stick from behind the chair, her mobility was slow… One day, that would be him. She made her way out of the dining room and into a games looking room, that had a glass cabinet at one corner. She opened it up and took out a framed drawing, along with a letter.

“This is where I keep my information on the Grand Master here. Our plan was to take out all of her lackies to lure her out, which we will still do, but I have an inkling that you are suited to go right for the Grand Master.”

Julian took the items from Derica. The drawing was of a woman that seemed to be awfully young, red hair and tanned skin. Her eyes were two different colours, one blue and one green. Hm… interesting. The letter detailed the Grand Master’s motives to acquire Toussaint from its royalty and make it strictly a Templar state. A terrible fate for the kingdom.

He gestured to himself. “Well, I have a cover as a bard… I suppose if this Grand Master wanted to take Toussaint she would have to worm her way into the royal family’s good graces to have a better chance of an assault, or taking it from the shadows. As a bard… I could get a job at Court and take note of any goings on. Kai is already working on stitching hoods into all my doublets and has modified a set of hidden blades to work with these clothes.”

Derica grinned. “Let me tell you, boy, from that alone, I already know you have the makings of a good Assassin.” She approached him and patted his upper arm. “I trust you know what to do from here. Need any help, come to me.”

“I will, Derica.”

She nodded to him and walked off.

“So… you’re here, but you’re not stationed here, what’s going on with you?” Ada said suddenly, from behind him.

Julian placed the picture and the letter back in the cabinet and turned to Ada. “I asked to be stationed at Oxenfurt, and they let me. I got bored of Oxenfurt, and I went to the Council to ask permission to travel, and they let me. They suggested I come here because of the increased presence.” He spread his arms out. “So here I am.”

Ada smiled slowly. “You can never be one to follow a normal path, can you?”

“Not at all. That would make life boring.”

She laughed. “It would.” She stepped towards him, her eyes shifting away. “You haven’t found that Templar bastard have you?”

“No. Haven’t heard nor seen the guy.” Julian thinned his lips. “Now I’m on the move, I have a better chance at catching him. But first Derica wants me to assassinate Toussaint’s Grand Master.”

“The Grand Master… she must have faith in you.”

“Gods know why.” He shrugged, shaking his head. “Hardly seems fair to take the opportunity from one of you, but it seems she’s heard a tale or two about me.”

“I have too,” Ada said with a smile. “Only ever assassinating your target. Never being seen… Word has travelled that you may be a good example for reckless Assassins to learn from.”

“Huh, interesting… I hadn’t thought of myself as a role model.”

“Well, you are now.” Ada clapped him on the back. “Come on, I’ll introduce you to everyone.”

He smiled up at her. “Thanks, Ada.”

She beamed at him. “I’m just glad to see you.”

“Me too…”

It had felt like one year too many after all.

\--

His search had brought up nothing after _months_. He’d gained a good few leads early on, but they never quite led to the Grand Master. By the time he followed the evidence and caught up, the Grand Master was already long gone. However, he had managed to worm his way into Court. Much of his time was filled up with being a bard for the royal family, but he did have quarters in the palace, which allowed plenty of snooping at night.

It had been a long time since a lead, and he was just about ready to give up being at Court. It wasn’t exactly fun as he had urgent work to do. He imagined if he was just a bard this would be not only fun but a dream. He could not afford such a luxury as an Assassin. Being a bard wasn’t his passion, after all. It was cover.

That didn’t mean he didn’t enjoy playing a lute or writing songs, it just wasn’t a job. A hobby, that was it.

He was strumming away in his room, composing a new song for the family, when he heard a rush of quick footsteps. Not in a run, but in a swift walking pace. He cast his lute aside on his bed and moved towards the door, slipping into his Eagle Vision to hear better.

“I told you it wouldn’t work, Calynn. The family won’t just hand it all over to you.”

“You know them, you work for them. You’re close…”

Julian opened the door just a touch, there were two woman a little further down the corridor from his room. They had stopped now, standing in the hallway, having their chat. They probably thought they were out of sight, and that no one could hear them. Julian was just glad they’d chosen this corridor to go down, _because_ the woman, Calynn, he presumed, had red hair, and hopefully, different coloured eyes as well.

This very well could be his target.

The Grand Master.

By a stroke of luck, right when he was about to give up, the solution had landed right in his lap. He’d been right, first of all, and secondly, the work the other Assassins were doing had clearly riled her up. Frantic eyes, erratic movements. This was a Grand Master in trouble, desperate to get things moving.

“ _And_ just because I’m close doesn’t mean I can do your business at will.” The other woman threw her hands up. “Do you want me to get caught?!”

“Not at all, but I need results, _yesterday_.”

“That won’t happen.” A pause, consideration perhaps. “Come to the ball at the end of the week, we can discuss more there, and I’ll introduce you to the family again. Maybe then you can… worm your in.” The woman finished with a smile.

Calynn sighed, head bowed like she had no other choice. “ _Fine_. But if this goes wrong, we have to move on to plan B.”

“No way, Calynn, if this fails, I’m done working with you. I’ll find a better Templar.” The other woman kept her gaze firm as she whisked away, her dress twirling around her as she rounded a corner.

Calynn was left in the corridor, deflated and seemingly frustrated to her back teeth. Julian had just the remedy… He stood and opened his door, making it look like it had been closed. He walked towards Calynn, using his signature ‘Jaskier saunter’ to make it look more authentic. Playing the part of an eccentric bard. As he neared, he frowned.

“Now, what has you in such a sorry state?” he asked.

Calynn glanced up and glared at him. “What do you want,” Her eyes roved up and down his body for moment, “bard?” Well, at least she had guessed correctly.

And Julian had guessed correctly too. Different coloured eyes. One blue, the other green. Her red hair clear. Facial features well defined just like the picture. That drawing… it had been spot on.

“Nothing, dear lady, I just wondered if you needed your spirits picking up. You look awfully troubled.” He winked, just for the flare.

But she waved him off. “No, no, I’m fine. Carry on with your day.”

He nodded to her, moving forward as if he was going to walk around her. “Oh, I plan to.” He flicked his wrist and thrust his blade right into her stomach. He curled his arms around her and carefully lowered her to the ground, eyeing her as she breathed through the pain magnificently well.

“It will take more than that, Assassin.” She glanced down at her stomach. “I’ve come back from worse.”

Julian pulled up his hood and shook his head. “You’re in the arms of an Assassin, you know you aren’t going to live through the day.”

Calynn frowned, hardiness setting into her features. The reality of death. “No… perhaps not.”

“What can you tell me about your operations here?”

“You Assassins have already killed most of my people. They will try to regroup but… any Templars in Toussaint will now look to Cintra for help. The Grand Master there will supply them with a new leader.” She coughed, eyes sorrowful. “I was doing such good here, I was not done!”

“You are done now.” He eyed her hands, ensuring she wasn’t going to dive for a weapon, a last ditch attempt to bring down an Assassin before death. “Tell me… Cintra’s Grand Master, where do they hide?”

Calynn scoffed. “As if I would tell you such a thing… Figure it out yourself, _Assassin_.” She was struggling a little with speech, no doubt due to the pain and the blood flowing from her. “You killed me, and I’m harder to find.”

Julian hummed. “Purely accidental. You just happened to pass my door during a very interesting conversation.”

She sighed out. “Shit…”

“You could do me one favour though…”

She eyed him with nothing but smugness. After all, in her dying moments, withholding information was her only upper hand. “Oh, how can I help?”

Julian rolled his eyes before slipping into a more serious demeanour. “Fergus Stenham. Know the name?”

“The Cintran Templar? He’s nothing but a speck.”

“He killed my friend’s parents.”

“Ah… The fire…” Calynn smiled. “Okay, Assassin, I’ll give you that one.” She smoothed her hands over her wound, like she had only just reminded herself that she was dying. “He’s a dick, even to his fellow Templars. Claimed to be a mage, but he’s a witcher. From whatever school or something.” She shook her head. “Kill him, or don’t, I couldn’t care. Last I heard he was in Cintra, he’s always in Cintra.”

Julian nodded, satisfied with the answer and the other information he had gleamed. “Thank you, Calynn, you’ve been most helpful.”

She tilted her head back, wincing slightly. “Just put me out of my misery.”

He deployed his blade and shoved it into her neck, killing her instantly. “May you rest well.” He closed her eyes and picked her up, swiftly taking her back to his room. He hid her in his wardrobe (once he’d moved all his clothes out of there). He cleaned up the blood outside his room the best he could with a spare shirt. Then, he dressed in his robes, paying off a cleaner for the palace, who did a wonderful job.

With the blood mopped up, the palace guards did not seem to notice the different.

To cover his tracks, he stayed at the palace for a couple days. The royal family were not happy when he quit a day before their big ball, but that was their problem, not his. He had to move on, quickly, before anyone could suspect him of anything.

Of course, he had to move the body, so the blame was not put on him. Jaskier the Bard couldn’t have his name ruined by being a suspected murderer. After some quick reconnaissance, he placed the body in the room of the woman Calynn had been talking to. It was the least he could do, since she’d been working with a Templar, and seemed to be one herself. For now, however, she was not a target for him personally.

Julian was making his way back to the bureau, still dressed as a bard, with his bag on his back and lute over his shoulder, when he heard a string of abuses shouted at someone. He crept his way towards a small market that went down one street, and noticed a witcher was being pelted with rocks by a bunch of kids. The adults were merely watching on…

Julian approached quickly. “Hey! You leave that poor man alone!”

One of the kids turned to him, rock in hand. “He’s not a man.”

The witcher looked… young and scared. He was holding his arms up, standing still, slightly crouched. He wasn’t going to fight back, because if he did…

“I _said_ leave him alone,” he pressed, firm. “This man’s job is to keep you all safe. And yet you throw rocks at him? What could he have possibly done?”

The adults at the stalls turned their heads away. Shame. The kids held their rocks back, like they were going to stop. But the pause was brief, and they threw the rocks anyway. They were just doing it because they could, because they had been taught to.

Julian shook his head, sighing out. Fine, if no one else would do anything... He marched forward and gently touched the witcher’s arm. “Come with me, if the kids follow, at least you can run?”

The witcher glanced to him, his amber eyes beautiful yet scared. Perhaps scared of the ramifications of not just standing and taking it. Julian smiled reassuringly and tugged at his arm. The witcher nodded, and he walked with Julian. They both got pelted with rocks then, but Julian didn’t care. This witcher was young and did not deserve to be treated this way so early on in his life.

Julian shrugged the rocks off and slowly guided the witcher far from the market, more towards the edges of town. “I’m sorry they did that to you. People are awful.”

“Why help me?” the witcher asked, pulling away from Julian, facing him. There were small rocks caught in his white hair… it was terribly sad.

“Because no one deserves that treatment for just existing. I asked them what you had done, they said nothing, so I can only assume they were being evil on purpose.”

The witcher frowned.

“Precisely.” Julian glanced around, keeping an eye out for the kids. “Are you done with your work here? I presume you have a horse.”

“I’m done…”

“Then to the stables?”

“I don’t need defending.”

Julian smiled sadly, ducking his head slightly. “You and I both know that is not true. At least with me, maybe people will feel less threatened.”

The witcher’s lips tugged upwards. “I don’t think a bard could ever be threatening.”

Julian almost laughed at the absurd idea. That he was not threatening… “Yeah, yeah, come on.”

They walked to the stables, and Julian kept a keen eye out for any rock throwing kids. None were to be found, gladly, and soon enough, the witcher was getting his horse out of the stables. He observed with interest as the witcher stroked his horse gently, whispering to her. It was nice to see, and proved more so that witchers were never the violent monsters people branded them as.

The witcher mounted his horse and nodded to Julian. “Thank you.”

“No problem. Stay safe.”

The witcher hummed and urged his horse into a trot. Julian watched him go, eyes narrowed in curiosity. He hadn’t run into a witcher since he was a child. It was intriguing to see a fully grown one, who was clearly becoming accustomed to what people could be like.

He shrugged the weird experience off and made his way back to the bureau with no interruptions this time. Many of the Assassins seemed to be out, Ada too, so he simply went on a quest to find Derica. Again, she was at the dining table, writing a letter this time. Perhaps she preferred to use this as her office. Julian hadn’t had time to work her out yet, so he didn’t really know.

“You’re back?” she asked, focused entirely on her letter. “Did your plan not go well?”

Julian got the Templar cross out of his pocket and threw it down onto the table. It went skittering across, stopping by Derica’s hands. “Just when I was about to give up being at Court, Calynn passed right by my door. I killed her and planted the body in another Templar’s room. It went _very_ well.”

Derica placed her quill down and took the cross into her hands, she looked up at Julian. “What did Calynn tell you?”

“She told me that the remaining Templars here will try to regroup, but will look to Cintra for help. The Grand Master there will supposedly supply them with a new leader.” He cupped his hands behind his back. “She told me some interesting information about a Templar I’m seeking out. I’ll be heading to Cintra next, and will be out of your hair in a day or two.”

Derica smiled sadly. “A real shame, I was looking forward to having you here for longer. But you have to move on, if that’s what you need.” She stood, grabbing her stick. “You are a good Assassin, even if the Grand Master merely fell into your lap. You used your initiative and went, as it appears, unnoticed. Thank you, for helping us. Toussaint now has a better chance at being saved.”

He nodded to her in thanks. “I appreciate your words, Derica. They mean a lot coming from you.”

“Ah, I’m an old woman now, and you’re a young man. Maybe I need to learn from you.” She approached him, her eyes examining. “Maybe I need to remember hiding in plain sight actually requires being seen.”

Julian placed his hands on his hips, glancing down at his doublet. “Jaskier the Bard has a reputation now. He’s a joker, a lover of all, kind, and a friend. But he’s also quick to defend, quick to anger.” He smiled, thinking on how he could evolve the cover. “He can get into anywhere, especially since working at the palace. _I_ , on the other hand, am much like Jaskier is but much more. I have more depth than a simple cover or disguise.”

Derica cheekily grinned. “Lover of all, ay? Find pretty ladies in the palace?”

He blushed and ducked his head. “Maybe. But nothing that distracted from my work.”

“No, I don’t think you could be distracted from that.” She patted him on the arm and sat back down, leaning her stick against the table. “Enjoy the rest of your stay here. I’ll be sure to tell the Mentor here of your hard work.”

Julian bowed his head. “Thank you, Derica. It’s been a pleasure.”

She grinned. “It certainly has.”

He stayed for a couple more days, allowing himself rest after his adventure at the palace. Too soon, he found himself at the edge of Beauclair, Pegasus’s reins in his hands, and Ada there beside him, frowning. She didn’t like the fact that he had to go already, but… well she knew why he had to. It was her words, the promise he had made, that had set him on this mission.

“So… off you go again, leaving me behind.” Ada glanced to the ground, scuffing her toe against the dirt, kicking up dust.

“We both live very different lives now.” Julian dropped Pegasus’s reins and gave him a good pat, wishing for him to stay put. He turned to Ada and hugged her, closing his eyes. She hugged back, and all the emotions of missing her rolled over him once again. “I’ll always miss you, though, _always_.” He backed out of the hug, eyes sincere. “Once your parents’ killer and the Grand Master are dead, I’ll come tell you. Okay?”

“Okay.” She smiled wetly. “I’ll await the day you’ll come back.”

“Me too.” He nodded to himself, smiling slightly. “Until next time, Ada.”

“Until then, Julian.” She pressed her lips together, as if she wanted to will her tears away. Such a shame he couldn’t stay with his best friend for longer.

He turned to Pegasus and hopped atop him, the road out of Beauclair was shining with sunlight and opportunity. With one last glance and smile towards Ada, he was off, trotting along the long road to Cintra.

Fergus wouldn’t stand a _chance_.

\--

Attre. A nice place… at sunrise. All the clues had led to here. A year’s worth of work. Fergus had not been an easy Templar to find. He had been slippery, no doubt due to his teaching at the Viper school. Because not only was he a witcher, but he was one that understood assassination techniques. But he was no Assassin, no, that capital ‘A’ required training unseen even at witcher schools. Not only how to kill, but how to blend, how to go unseen, how to be a master of stealth and freerunning.

From using Assassin allies and sources around the Kingdom of Cintra, to waiting patiently in Attre for an appearance… Julian had finally done it. Just outside Fergus’s house, at the back, where some land covered in wildflowers was. The sunrise softly touching the flowers was lovely. A fitting end.

He jumped from the rooftop and landed upon Fergus, stabbing both his hidden blades into his neck. He withdrew quick, standing over him, mouth stretched thin. Fergus reached one hand up to him, the other found his neck. He’d punctured two arteries, just to be safe. The man was a witcher after all.

“Why did you kill Cathleen and Robert Searle?” he asked, calmly.

“Got too close,” Fergus struggled to say.

Julian hummed. Right, just as they suspected. He circled Fergus, staring down at him. He’d die soon, but hopefully not without answering one question. “Where is your Grand Master? He ordered the hit, correct?”

Fergus rested his head back. “For people who kill… you’re awfully… surprised when you die yourselves.”

“Tell. Me.”

“In Cintra. The city. Where else?” Fergus smiled. “But you’ll never catch him. He’s too smart for you Assassins.”

Julian stepped into Fergus’s line of sight shaking his head. “Not smart enough for me.”

He stayed until Fergus died just to close his eyes and pay last respects. A year of his life just to catch one man… He understood better now, when the books said taking down Templars in cities took years. That even when the most skilled Assassins took them down, it could take anywhere from a year to a decade. It, of course, also depended on how many Assassins were involved, but the point was… this wasn’t always an easy process.

Sometimes it wasn’t as easy as finding a target and killing them, sometimes it took a lot more work just to do that one thing.

He rode to Cintra, taking his time. It was of no urgency, he didn’t know where the Grand Master was or what he would be planning. All he knew was that he was in Cintra. No wealth of information. No picture. No letters. Just the words of a dying man. _However_ , he wasn’t alone. There was the bureau in Cintra, they could possibly give him more information.

But if Calynn was telling the truth, they may have no information on him at all. Simply because the Grand Master was elusive.

Cintra was… possibly one of the most impressive cities he had ever seen. Many tall buildings to climb, a bustling centre district, crowds galore! An Assassin’s paradise for stealth and freerunning. Plenty of ways to escape, plenty of ways to go about killing someone. It brought a smile to his face.

He set Pegasus up in a stable and went on a quest to find the bureau. The rooftops were fairly freeing in Cintra. A lot of them ended up connecting in one way or another, and if they didn’t, Julian took a running jump and caught onto a ledge (although that was mostly luck rather than skill).

“Looking for something, friend?” someone said behind him just as Julian was about to jump to another rooftop.

He twirled around and noted the person was indeed a friend. Grey and black robes, red sash around the middle, hood up, Assassin insignia stitched into the shoulder. This… was a Cintran Assassin. Certainly a friend.

“Indeed I am. I’m out on a quest to kill the Grand Master here, do you have any information on their whereabouts or appearance?”

The Assassin folded his arms. “You can’t barge in here and expect us to let you assassinate the Grand Master we’ve been hunting for years.”

Julian placed his hands at his hips. “This particular Grand Master ordered a hit on my best friend’s parents. I promised her I would hunt them down. So here I am.”

“Who are you?”

“Julian Pankratz.”

The Assassin tilted his head back. “Oh… Then I’m sorry for assuming the worst. I thought you were a bull-headed Assassin who had no right to travel. But no, I’ve heard the rumours. You’ve taken down quite a few Templars for your age.”

Julian chuckled. “It took a lot of persuasion to gain those kills. I’m planning to make this Grand Master my seventh. That is, if you’ll let me.”

The Assassin put a hand to his chest. “I’m Gaothaire, and I’m an old friend of your parents. I’m even in contact with Marceli, he’s told me much about you.” Gaothaire cupped his hands behind his back. “You’re a Master Assassin in all but name. I would be happy for your help, and for you to assist in the assassination of the Grand Master.”

Julian waved dismissively. “A Master Assassin I am not. But I am glad that Marceli speaks of me in a seemingly positive matter. We didn’t part on the best of terms.”

“He’s proud of you, never doubt that.” Gaothaire gestured for Julian to follow. “I’ll take you to the bureau. There you can rest. We’ll talk in the morning.”

Julian followed with a smile, he was always glad to be welcomed. It was what made the Brotherhood so great, that they were bound to each other through the Creed. Friends, always. Even if it did take more than the Brotherhood to be true friends. It was a good place to start.

\--

Julian shoved at Gaothaire, laughing. “You take that back!”

Gaothaire shook his head, taking a swig. “No, no way, Julian. I’m _right_.”

Eumer slapped his hand off the table a few times. “Hear, hear!”

“ _No…_ Bards are not defined by feral and distinguished.”

“Don’t forget dramatic!” Alfilda called.

Julian rolled his eyes. “Hardly dramatic, we’re just–”

“Everybody get down!” Gervase shouted, running down the stairs.

Before Julian could think to act, an explosion went off at the top of the stairs, flinging Gervase forwards.

Julian jumped up and sprinted over, finding Gervase crumpled on the ground, his back burnt. He didn’t even get to check his pulse before a bomb slowly rolled down the stairs.

There was no time, Julian went running back into the common room, Eumer and Alfilda quickly shutting the doors behind him. They rushed to the other side of the room, just in time for when the bomb went off, shaking the doors but not blasting them from their hinges. The ceiling shook and dust flew down over them as another two explosions went off upstairs. _Fuck_.

“We’re under attack,” Gaothaire said, withdrawing his sword.

“Yeah, no shit!” Julian shouted. “What did Gervase do?!”

“I sent him on a recon mission. Clearly he brought something home.”

“Shit…” Julian walked over to the doors, slowly opening them, peeking out. No more bombs were bouncing down the stairs, but Gervase’s body was ruined and... Well, he was dead.

Gods, must have been awful...

Glancing at the stairs, he realised they were half broken, and that perhaps more bombs had gone off than just the two he’d thought he’d heard. He gritted his teeth. One of their own... just killed like that. With no honour or respect.

Julian turned to Gaothaire. “I’m going after whoever did this.”

“Julian, no, you–”

“No words will stop me.” He ran towards the stairs, hopping up the whole ones, and jumping over a large gap. He had to climb the walls to get out, as there were large holes in the floors that had collapsed into the kitchen. Lucky this part wasn’t over the common room.

He managed to get up to the last floor, as he vaulted over the railing and onto the stairs. Quickly, he ran up to the rooftop exit, climbing out, making sure to close the exit behind him.

His Eagle Vision told him nothing, the person must have already gotten out of range... That wouldn’t stop Julian, not today. He glanced around, looking for an indication of a direction.

Peering over one point of the rooftop, he found a snagged piece of a fabric on a piece of wood protruding from the building. Julian rolled his shoulders, this was not from an Assassin’s robes and certainly not from Gervase.

The bastard who had bombed them had gone east.

Julian did not hesitate to run across the rooftops. He kept having to stop to glance around with his Vision, but no more clues turned up. So, he kept running, vaulting down from the roofs using planters, signs, and whatever else was attached to certain buildings. He walked slowly up one alleyway, slipping into his Eagle Vision once again. A tint of gold caught his eye, a bomb dropped on the ground in the middle of the street, but not deployed. Ah, and footprints from the powder that had spilled from it.

Good. And lucky too.

He followed the clue, taking to the rooftops once again. A few streets later, the footprints came to a stop at a building across the road, and Julian jumped over, catching the ledge of the roof to pull himself up. He slipped into his Vision and focused for any voices inside. He was not disappointed.

“Is it done? Were you followed?” an unknown voice said, illuminated in white in his vision.

“I was spotted by the Assassin you warned me about on my way there, but I chased him home. He wanted to fight me on the roof,” the bomber said. “Luckily, he noticed what I was about to do, and dove down to warn his friends, but it was already too late for him. I threw all the bombs you had given me into their bureau. I’m sure they won’t be a threat anymore.”

“Wonderful work!” The man patted the bomber on the shoulder. “With the Assassins out of our way for a while, we can begin our true work. To find the artifact.”

“Yes, Grand Master. Shall I get the research to my people?”

The Grand Master, now shifting to red in Julian’s Vision, turned around, appearing to pick something up. “Yes, yes. I am so grateful for your loyalty, Cassius. It’s so hard to find good Templars these days who aren’t corrupted with their own want for power.”

Julian scoffed. As if wanting to rule people through order was not a quest for power too.

Cassius chuckled. “Oh, I know what you mean. So many join the Order for their own gain. But I’m sure, with time, we can find more traditionalists.”

“Hm, hopefully.” He handed whatever he had picked up over, papers probably. “Now go. May the Father of Understanding guide you.”

Cassius bowed his head. “May the Father of Understanding guide us.”

Julian dropped down from the roof and climbed around the building, watching as Cassius left through the front door. Hm… Not an awful lot of security for a Grand Master. Had the man perhaps gotten too cocky in his quest for order and the New World? The building did not light up with red when looking in his Vision, and now the Grand Master was tinted with gold. A target…

He was sure Gaothaire would not mind. The Grand Master in the palm of his hands, after Cassius had led him straight to him… Another Templar dead was no bad thing, and it was what he was there for. He wouldn’t be going against orders, would he? Not against the bureau or the Council here?

Hopefully not… for he was an Assassin, and he was not letting this Grand Master get away.

Once he’d dropped down the building, Julian entered through the front entrance, creeping his way up to the first floor. The Grand Master was still in his, Julian presumed, office, turned away from the only entrance, eyes on a bookcase.

Julian snuck through the door, raising straight to his feet as he approached the Grand Master. Well… now or never. He withdrew his blade and shoved it right into the Grand Master’s neck, ensuring not to puncture an artery, so as to give him time to talk before death. Julian held him, bringing him to the ground carefully.

The Grand Master stared up at Julian, eyes accepting. “One of you escaped…”

“I decided to go after your man. He led me here.”

“Shit… Thought the bombs would have done more.”

“You thought wrong.” Julian inched closer, eyebrows twitching. “What were your plans for Cintra? I’m curious. I don’t know much about you.”

The Grand Master smiled. “That information is not for an Assassin, boy. Go bother some other Templar, you won’t be getting anything out of me today.”

“At least tell me your name, good sir.”

The Grand Master tilted his head slightly, wincing at the wound in his neck. He was bleeding out, slowly, but surely. “Emerson. Baxter.”

Julian nodded curtly. “Then rest in the peace you search for, but never in your order.” He withdrew his blade again, cutting at an artery, merely for a quicker death.

Emerson grinned, feeling at his neck gently, the blood coating his fingers. “Mercy… Thank you,” he eked out. His head fell back in Julian’s arms only a few moment later. Skin cold, eyes empty.

Julian set him down and closed his eyes. He stared at him for a short moment… After just about a year of searching for Emerson, for any information on him, it was jarring to find out that he was one of the less extreme Templars. At least from what he’d overheard. Still a Templar, however. But one who had clearly cared for the Order, especially from what Calynn had told him.

Was it possible that some Templars didn’t just want for order and to rule, but truly wished for a better world? Then why did they do such awful things and disregard innocent life? Hm, no world with the Templars in charge would achieve anything.

Eventually the world would fall from its order, and the Templars would never be able to hold control forever. There would be a rebellion, like with the legends Adam and Eve and the Ones Who Came Before. Order was not the way to live.

If anything, Julian was too set in that mindset to believe anything else.

He slipped into his Eagle Vision and walked around the office, looking for anything of any use. He found a few papers, a book of interest, and a drawing of something… A ball with lines on it. Curious. He tucked them into his robes and left the building with as much care as when he’d entered, slipping into the crowds of the streets as if he were never there.

He ran to the bureau, hopeful that perhaps no one had been injured on the upper levels. He hadn’t stopped to check, intent on finding the bomber, but Cassius could wait for another day, or could be assigned to someone who would be better off getting more experience. Whoever that man was, he didn’t seem like a skilled killer, if the bombing incident could be used for much evidence. Barely a dent in the ceiling. But Gervase was dead, and so could others.

When he hopped back into the bureau, the place looked… destroyed. He hadn’t quite noticed on his way through, too focused on getting out. But it was… just, carnage. He found Alfilda on the last floor, or more, the attic, where she was tending to the wounds of those who had gotten caught in the blast up here. She glanced to him, and tilted her head.

“I didn’t get the man who did this, I want to leave that to one of you. But I know what he looks like. Instead, I assassinated the Grand Master. The bomber lead me to him.”

Alfilda smiled slightly. “Then what are you waiting for? Go tell Gaothaire, _now_. He will want to know.”

Julian nodded to her and left the room, heading downstairs. He noticed Eumer on the first floor, helping those with blood dripping down their heads. He was cleaning up their wounds, while another was patching them up.

He hopped down the very broken stairs and skirted into the common room, where Gaothaire was writing a letter, frantically, at the card table. Julian cupped his hands behind his back and stepped towards him. This was a bureau leader at work, not his jolly friend. And in this crisis, the only thing he could do was to write to the Cintran Council to ask for aid.

“I have something to report.”

Gaothaire glanced up. “What did you find?” he asked quick.

Julian bowed his head. “I apologise, Gaothaire. I did not kill the man who bombed the bureau, but he did lead me to the Grand Master of Cintra. I chose to kill him instead of the bomber, whose name is Cassius. I thought it appropriate that one of you assassinate him.”

Gaothaire rested back in his chair. “Cassius… Light red hair, going white?”

“Exactly that.”

“I know of that Templar. I’ll send Alfilda out to kill him.” A slow smile tinted his lips. “Do not worry that you sought an advancement on the Templars instead of revenge. You already had permission to kill the man from me. Did he tell you anything?”

“No. But I asked for his name. He was called Emerson Baxter.”

Gaothaire’s eyebrows jumped to his hairline.

“Are you alright?”

“I haven’t heard that name in a long time…”

Julian narrowed his eyes, noting Gaothaire had gone slightly pale, his fingers shaking. Not a feud… “Old friend?”

“I didn’t grow up in a school, like many Assassins. I joined the Brotherhood when I was an adolescent.” Gaothaire smoothed a hand over his mouth. “Emerson was my best friend, we grew up together. But as an Assassin found me and took me in after my mother died, Emerson was taken away. His father came to town, dressed in clothes that proudly displayed the Templar cross. I was playing with Emerson in the market, at the time. His father grabbed his wrists, whisking him away to a carriage… I always wondered what happened to him.”

“And while you became a bureau leader, he became a Grand Master.” Julian thinned his lips, these stories could happen, friends finding out they had been on opposite sides the whole time. “I’m sorry.”

“No, no, it’s… uh…” Gaothaire glanced down at the letter he was writing, his fingertips gracing the words with care. “He… was a Templar. It’s okay. It happens. We’re Assassins, Templars can never be on our side and they can never be our friends. No matter how much some might wish for unity, it can never be.” He picked up his pen and finished off the letter, folding it up. “Will you be staying with us, or moving on?”

Julian turned around, looking up, sniffing the air. It smelt like dust and blood and death. Smoke and fire. There was a layer to the air, a thickness of what the bomb had released. There were moans that could be heard, even on the ground floor. Their people were injured, and he knew them all, well…

He turned back to Gaothaire. “I think I’ll stay a while. Not for long, but long enough to see this through.”

Gaothaire smiled as he sealed the letter. “Good then. Can you run by the healer’s stall and pick up some supplies? We’ll be surely running low.”

“Absolutely.” Julian stepped back, ready to turn on his heel, when Gaothaire raised his hand.

“You did good today, thank you for taking action.”

“I did all I could.”

“Well, now we must help our people.” He gestured to the doorway. “Be on your way, we need those supplies.”

Julian nodded to him and spun on his heel, running and climbing back out of the bureau, heading straight for the market.

Strange that today included both a victory and a defeat… A Grand Master dead, but their own people had been cut down and injured… What did one even call a day such as this? Because it was no win for them, but it was a step closer to freedom for the people.

It was a shame this victory had come at such a high cost… A shame indeed.


	5. Traitor

Seven major (or so) Templars had fallen to his blade, a good record as he was only twenty-five. Except seven dead meant nothing in comparison to what was happening now. Of course, driven by the Templars over many years in an attempt to gain further control and rewrite history. Aiming to gain control over people by earning their trust through this method. It was effective, considering how quick humans were to slaughter.

He closed his eyes, trying to block out the sights before him. Up top upon this elven structure that was currently burning from the inside out. Elves were being rounded up, as if they were dangerous. But they weren’t, this was just prejudice. At its highest.

He leapt off the building, into the haystack below and jumped out. He walked, breathing in the smoky air, clenching his teeth. There was only one thing he could do. He pulled his hood up and _ran_.

It wasn’t long before he came across a human camp, and wagons with bars. Wooden temporary cells too. These elves were not to be slaughtered like the rest, they were to be used… as slaves. Julian couldn’t allow that, but he wasn’t exactly of a rank that he could just do things, without permission from above. From a Bureau or a mentor.

He thinned his lips, but what Assassin would he be if he stood by and did nothing? The humans were red in his vision, and were either mercenaries, Templars, or just general dicks. Not innocents. The Templar speculation was unlikely, but plausible, due to the fact this cleansing was pushed by them.

He crouched down and hid in the bushes, as one guard neared, keeping watching on the camp. Julian grabbed him from the back, pulling him down, stabbing him in the neck. He withdrew one of his throwing knives and flung it towards one of the guards. Diving out from the bushes, he killed one who was sleeping, before sliding along the mud, tripping up another. He rolled to his feet and stabbed him in the stomach.

Julian noticed the last guy trying to escape with the wagon. A second later, he slumped down with a knife lodged in his throat. Julian looted their bodies, taking back his knives, and finding the key to the cells. He unlocked each one, and was thanked by those inside.

One approached him once he was done. The elf had long blonde hair, and richer clothes than the others. He grabbed one of Julian’s hands, shaking it with fervour. “Thank you, Assassin.”

“It is no problem.” Julian grasped the elf’s shoulder. “Now, _run_.”

“Come on, Your Highness,” another elf called out.

The blonde elf, or more likely, the prince, turned and ran off with the rest of them. Julian smiled as he watched them disappear in the fields. He was glad that he could help them. They deserved to be free, like everyone else. Humans were callous and wrong in this moment, but they too deserved to be free. And really, deserved was the wrong word. Freedom was an active choice over order, yes, but it was the natural state when everything else was let go. When peace was achieved.

Julian went running once more, through the landscape of Dol Blathanna, finding more camps to free elves that were to be used as slaves. It was all he could do. And once he scouted the whole area, he found a horse and rode for the nearest city, to tell the bureau there of what he had seen and done.

All in all, the Assassins there were impressed with him. His quick thinking had freed many elves, and the bureau implored him to continue, with a clap on his back. That permission and acceptance was all he needed, and so he rode back out, with a mission to ensure elves were free and not made slaves.

He saved all he could.

\--

Julian threw one of his bracers down on the table, turning around with fury in his eyes. “It’s never enough.”

“You still liberated them. And now the dwarves too. They will get to live, in peace.”

“No, no. You have it all wrong.” He pointed towards the window, to the peacefulness outside. “This is a human town, in the north, so they get to live. If these people were elves, or dwarves, they would be cut down and forced to the edges of the world. As they have been. No matter how much I help, how much I do, humans won’t stop now. The Templars are causing this chaos to slowly take over the world. A sympathetic king or queen, who believes in the right for elves to live amongst humans? Well, the people will call for their head, and a Templar Grand Master will take their place on the throne. So do tell me, Benen, why you think I’ve done anything at all?”

“You’ve still done well by the people, Julian. Do not put yourself down.” Benen took a seat at a table, leaning back.

Julian had taken a brief break in Tridam, just to rest Pegasus for a bit, when Benen had caught him. When he’d questioned why he was not in the school, it had turned out that Benen had been trying to find him for a couple weeks now. And had heard through the grapevine that Julian had been riding down south. He hadn’t mentioned why yet, instead commending Julian on all his accomplishments, especially with the recent liberations he’d done.

But he knew he was right. It would never be enough. The world would continue on, and the Templars would regain whatever they lost. They always did. A constant tug and pull. Assassins pushed them back, and the Templars returned, every time. Nothing could stop this war. There would always be Assassins. There would always be Templars. But it was the battles won today that mattered for the future. If the Assassins could stay ahead of the game, and could stop the Templars at every turn, that New World would never come.

They were in Benen’s inn room now, and it was fairly nice. Pegasus was resting in the stable, and Benen had bought Julian some breakfast, guessing correctly that he’d only had some basic rations for food. But Benen was here for more than buying food and having a catch up.

“Why were you looking for me?” Julian asked, heading over to one of the beds. He sat upon the middle of it, legs crossed.

Benen sighed, hanging his head. “The school have a job for you, and you’re not going to like it.”

“The school? A job? Why not get you to do it? You’re an accomplished mentor, after all.”

“Because I cannot, but I know you could.”

“Wha…” Julian narrowed eyes, breathing coming slightly quicker. “What is the job, Benen?”

“We have reliable information that suggests Bradwr has turned on us.”

“Turned on us… in what way?”

“The Templar way.”

Julian shook his head, and kept shaking it as he refused to hear the words. “No. Bradwr wouldn’t do that to us… No way. Not him. He cared, so much. He did… He did.” He got up from the bed, pacing to the window. “How do you know…?”

“He left Nilfgaard two months ago. Assassin insignias that were attached to his robes and belts had been torn off and left in his room. He’s suspected to be in Amarillo, at the moment.”

“But how do you know he’s _Templar_?” Julian spun around, ready to accuse, say that Benen had it wrong, that Bradwr would never turn on them. He didn’t train as hard as he had just to up and leave them. But Benen was holding out a letter, an empathetic expression plastered on his face. Julian moved towards him, taking the letter into his hands. It was from one of their allies… in Amarillo. “He’s… But he… was my friend.”

“Not anymore he’s not.” Benen stood, scrubbing his face. “He killed innocents, and was seen talking to Grand Master of Geso.”

“Shit…” Julian handed the letter back. “ _Shit_.” He picked up his bracer from the table, fastening it back onto his arm. “Fuck this.” He closed his eyes, sighing out when his fingers slipped on one of the buckles. “Why me?”

“Because I trust you, and because you needed to know anyway.” Benen stepped towards him and helped Julian buckle up his bracer. “You were close as well, and contacting you this way is faster than informing the Assassins in the Geso area with carrier pigeons.”

“Fair…” He smiled gently at Benen as he finished with the buckle, stepping back. “So, I have to go to Amarillo then?”

“Yes. We’re not sure if he’s staying there, or moving on, but whatever Bradwr is doing, he is no Assassin anymore.”

“Shit. I just… can’t believe it.”

“Believe it, lad. Bradwr is no longer one of us.”

“But… why?” Julian turned away, stepping towards the window again. This secret war had its major players, but traitors never did make much sense to him. Two wildly different sides… How could one change between them? “Of all people, why _him_?”

“No one knows what happened to him. But the Nilfgaard bureau said he’d begun to question if assassinating people was the right way to do things.”

Julian hummed, nodding. He could understand that idea, but in practice, it made no sense. Templars would easily murder every Assassin they could if they backed down. “I should get going.”

Benen sighed. “Julian, before you go…”

He turned to him, hands on his hips.

“Don’t forget he is not your friend.”

“I know…”

And to think that was true now. That Bradwr would be against him. One of his closest friends… Shit. Having to kill him wasn’t fair, but it had to be done. One of their own turning to the Templars could do a lot of harm to the freedom of others.

\--

“And who would like to hear another?” Julian said, twirling around the tavern.

“Of course, bard, more!” several patrons pleaded, and Julian was happy to provide. The conversation of the tavern alone was payment enough, never mind the coins being tossed towards the hat he’d placed on his table.

He played several more songs, concentrating just enough to be good and stay covered, while listening out for the information he needed. There were two Templars in one corner, and he was fairly sure they had been in contact with Bradwr. They had been talking about allies passing through town, so he was keeping an ear out for anything he could garner. He sat down as he twigged onto one of them talking about a new joiner.

Slipping into his vision to enhance their voices, he listened in as he continued to play, but no longer sang any lyrics.

“And what did this new joiner say?”

“That he wasn’t as new as I thought. You see, he’s an ex-Assassin.”

“Oh…”

“Indeed, my friend. Indeed. He said he knew of a vault that held a wealth of information.”

“Where?”

“Didn’t get a where out of him yet.” The man patted the other’s arm. “But you can talk to him. Search for the man named Bradwr. He’s no longer in the area, but he was travelling north to Vizima.”

Ah, so, it was gonna be a chase across the Continent, was it? Well, Julian sure did know what hunting a target down was like. He’d done it enough. Vizima then… He hadn’t been before. Although, he did seem to remember it was where they had originally wanted to send him, before he left the school. Hm. What was Bradwr looking for? A purpose? A new way of life?

Well, Julian was going to find out one way or another.

He finished off the song and stood up, arms outstretched. “Thank you for being a wonderful audience tonight, but I must dash.” He bowed. “Until next time, good people of Amarillo.”

Some clapped on his way out, others merely continued on drinking, ignoring that he existed now that he had stopped playing. Which always made for a good point on how his cover was _perfect_ and _flawless_. A bard was never seen once they weren’t playing, and that would hold true until the end of time.

He packed up his things and left town as soon as he could, heading out on the road. At each major city, he would stop, asking Assassins and allies for any information. He would eavesdrop, tail people for information, and pickpocket them, all to find Bradwr. There came a point where Julian joked to himself that he was harder to find than most Grand Masters. Problem with an ex-Assassin going rogue, he supposed. They knew how to avoid detection, were masters of it in fact.

Any normal person, who wasn’t trained to spot an Assassin or trained to be one, would never see them. Ever.

Eventually, after almost two years of chasing after his old friend, he latched onto a lead that took him to Riedbrune. He doubted Bradwr knew that he was chasing after him, but Julian’s work had been stalled since running after him. He had taken out a few Templars he’d found on his way, because a bureau had given him permission to, and because Julian was tired of doing nothing during his chase.

The man was a shadow, and would have been an Assassin with a good legacy. But he was no longer one of them, and he’d been marked for death for far too long now. He had to go, sooner rather than later.

As Julian arrived in the small city, he climbed to the highest point and analysed the area, finding the bureau’s mark with easy. The city had well connected roofs, so it was effortless to move across it, and the haystacks were aplenty for when he wanted to make it across a street. Soon enough he was at the rooftop of the bureau, and when he slipped in, he was greeted by an old face.

Up on the first floor of the building was a very open area, with stairs leading down the ground floor, and of course, the hole in the ceiling. An older person, likely the bureau leader, was talking to Sein, an Assassin ally Julian had met in Beauclair, when Sein had been visiting for supplies.

“Sein!” Julian bellowed.

Sein jumped, his eyes finding Julian quickly. He grinned. “Oh, my friend!” He stood and walked over to Julian, hugging him for only a second. “What the hell are you doing in Riedbrune?”

“An old friend of mine, Bradwr, is an Assassin turned Templar. Last scrap of information I could find was that he was heading here. I’ve been tasked to assassinate him.”

The older woman stood, head tilted back. “Then your target is likely here for the meeting of Templars occurring in a few days. From all corners of the Continent, they are gathering at a site just outside town. There will be too many Templars for us as Assassins to step in and do anything about it, but your man will surely not be missed. There will be more than just lowly Templars attending.”

Julian parted his lips in shock. “Grand Masters.”

“Yes.”

“And there is nothing to be done?”

“No, not at all. I’m sorry if that upsets you.”

Julian waved dismissively. “I’m just shocked many major Templars will be in the same place, and there’s nothing the Assassins can do.”

The woman sighed, pushing her hood down. Her greying black hair shone, her wrinkles barely there. “Assassins are the change others are too powerless to achieve. We cannot always attack with haste.”

Julian thinned his lips and nodded. “Of course not, I’m sorry.”

“No need. You’re… young enough.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “Far too young for the age you carry. Are you one of the mutated?”

“I am.”

She smiled, eyes twinkling. “Then you understand more than most what it is we work for.”

Julian’s eyebrows twitched. He stepped towards her. “More than most?”

“Only those who are the greatest students may be gifted with the mutations. The students must understand the Creed without a fault, will understand what we strive for and what it means to fight. Strategy comes naturally, and you’ve never been seen when you approach with stealth. The tenants are your own morals, the maxim is what you live by. Very few mutated don’t go on to become Masters, Mentors, or bureau leaders.”

“I never realised that it meant so much.” He placed a hand at his hip. “I thought it meant we were good students.”

“You would have been a perfect student, but your assassination would have told them all they needed to know.” She gestured to him. “And here you are.”

He nodded to himself. “Indeed. Who are you?”

“I’m Lera, nice to meet you.”

“Likewise.”

Sein cupped his hands behind his back. “Julian, I may have information about this Bradwr.”

Julian turned to him, expression expectant. “Go on.”

“Brown hair, green eyes, has quite a height to him?”

“Yeah, yeah, that sounds like him.”

“I used to know him well, back when I was in Nilfgaard… Clearly before he had betrayed the Creed. Nowadays, I’ve heard he’s one of the key researches for some artifact.” Sein pulled a piece of paper from his doublet, unfolding it. “This was something I stole for Lera. It says there is a temple somewhere with something hidden inside.”

“I… have heard talk of an artifact. But not a temple.” Julian furrowed his brow slightly. “I wonder what that could mean.”

“It doesn’t matter right now,” Lera said. “Julian, why don’t you and Sein work together and find out where Bradwr is? Then, you can do what you came here for.”

Julian nodded to her with grace. “I will.”

Sein batted Julian’s arm as he approached him. “Come on then, my friend. Let’s get a move on.”

\--

“Is that him then?” Sein whispered, glued to the wall beside Julian. While he was no Assassin himself, he did know how to keep hidden.

Julian peeked round the corner, Eagle Vision active. Bradwr was walking amongst the crowds, browsing stalls at the market. “That’s him.”

“Then… what will you do?”

“Tail him back to wherever he’s staying once night falls.” He turned to Sein. “Go home. I have no idea what Bradwr is like now. Be safe, my friend.”

Sein knocked Julian’s hand away before it could reach his shoulder in sincerity. “No, Julian. Let me watch you work. And who knows, I could be useful.”

Julian tilted his head slightly, sighing out. “You’re the son of an Assassin, not one yourself. Don’t risk yourself, Sein. Go. Home.” He gestured vaguely behind them. “This is an assassination mission, not something you can help me with. You’ve done enough for today.”

Sein frowned, but his eyes sobered to reality. “Fine then. Thank you for letting me tag along, Julian.”

“You’re Welcome. Now go.”

Sein turned and walked away, slipping into the shadows as if he were an Assassin. Well, he was an ally, he was bound to pick up their tricks. Now, matters turned to Bradwr. Julian slipped into the crowds of the market, hood up. He blended with a group of people, who didn’t mind him standing near. He watched as Bradwr talked with a smile, buying fruit and pastries, as well as a book. He glowed gold in Julian’s Vision, he… was finally in his grasp.

Bradwr soon left the market, and Julian followed closely, keeping just enough distance so as not to be spotted. It seemed that he was going unnoticed, which was lucky, considering how good of an Assassin Bradwr used to be. But then, would someone as cocky as him expect to be hunted? No, probably not.

He weaved through the alleys and streets, as if he had noticed that someone was tailing him. Either that or this was a practiced routine. Perhaps the Templars were trained to believe that anyone could be after them at any time. Better to shake off a tail even if there isn’t one, then to just go directly home. Julian understood, but Assassins usually took to the rooftops instead. Bradwr had certainly… changed.

As he rounded a corner, Bradwr knocked into someone. Julian furrowed his brow, keeping back to watch. There was a bench against a building, two people upon it. Julian sat between them. It was only at that angle did he see Bradwr talking to _Sein_. In the twisty path Bradwr had taken, they must have somehow doubled back and ended up on the same path… Shit.

Sein stepped around Bradwr, arms folded. He looked at him with his head tilted back (Bradwr was a tall man, but it was as if Sein was trying to size up to him). Bradwr leant close, and Julian tried to focus on the conversation with his Vision, but he was _just_ out of range.

Bradwr placed a hand at Sein’s arm, lips curled in a snarl. He said something…

Sein ripped himself away, laughing in his face and shaking his head. He pulled a knife out.

Oh… That was a bad decision.

Just as Julian stood, ready to run over and end this altercation, Sein swiped at Bradwr, who easily dodged. Bradwr knocked the knife out of Sein’s hand, catching it as it fell. He turned towards the street and grabbed a passer-by.

Julian _ran_. He did. As fast as he possibly could. But a throat was slit, the knife dropped, accusation thrown at Sein, and Bradwr took off down the alley. Julian skidded to a stop just as the body of a young woman landed on the cold hard ground, Sein’s eyes wide, his mouth open in shock.

A crowd gathered around, gasps and yells rang out.

Julian stepped close to Sein, hand on his arm. “You okay?”

Sein rolled his eyes, looking up to Julian with a stony expression. “Fucking go after the bastard, _Assassin_. I’ll deal with this.” He nodded to the body. “This isn’t the first time.”

“Not the first time? _What_?”

Sein knocked Julian’s hand off his arm. “No questions. _Run_. Go get him.”

Julian curtly nodded, patted Sein’s arm twice, and leaped up the boxes that lay against a building’s wall, jumping to a sign that was sticking out, climbing up to the rooftop from there. It was no vantage point, but he managed to lock onto Bradwr, just barely catching the sight of gold on the edge of his Vision.

He went running across the buildings, glad for the interconnecting roofs this city had. He was sure he’d never gone so fast in his entire life. His legs carrying him, instinct taking over. This was Bradwr, someone who went to a school, which meant he knew more than most about the Assassins. He couldn’t be allowed to live any longer.

Julian came to a stop and relied on his Vision again. Bradwr had stopped, handing a bag of coins to someone standing outside an inn… Hm, most certainly a guard hired to keep any suspected Assassins out.

Ah…

Bradwr was paranoid. Because he was an ex-Assassin, now Templar. He knew his time was limited. He knew someone had likely been given a mission to take him out. And he was doing everything to protect himself. Well, all of that didn’t matter now.

He used his old tricks of looking through the windows, and found the room that was most definitely Bradwr’s. Templar cross shining on a desk. He couldn’t make it more obvious if he tried. Julian slipped in through the window and double checked the room. There were crumbled bits of paper thrown towards one corner, and one glance at them told him everything he needed to know. This was Bradwr’s room, and he was a rotten to the core Templar.

Julian glanced around the room, realising just how large and fancy it was. This was an inn for the rich, not just any old fellow that came through the town. Rich woods, fancy furniture, a plush bed. Templars certainly lived the life. He spotted a chaise longue along one wall. That… would do. He walked over and sat down upon it, lying back.

As he waited, Julian fiddled with his bracer. Nervous energy bubbling inside. This… traitor… the betrayal, it cut deep. Too deep. It was painful. Why in the world was it always Assassins turning to Templars and not the other way around? Was it because these traitors became jaded and realised that freedom and peace could only be achieved with order? Well, whatever they thought was shit.

He didn’t know how long he’d been pondering on the secret war when the door swung open, but the smell of alcohol hit him first. Then the smell of blood, a stain on his shirt.

“Julian,” Bradwr said blankly from the doorway.

Julian smiled and lay further back on the sofa. “Bradwr. Nice to see you again. Things have changed, haven’t they?”

Bradwr scoffed. “You Assassins–”

“ _Assassins_ you say, as if you weren’t one of us.” He rolled to his feet, fists curling.

Bradwr moved over to where the box lay upon his desk. “You don’t understand, people will never want freedom, they will always crave order, someone to lead them.”

“Someone to lead, of course, but you Templars don’t believe in their freedom. Your order is to rule us, your peace is control.”

“As it should be!” Bradwr turned around, his old bracers on. The insignias once engraved into them had been torn off, but the fact that they had been there was clear. This would be no easy fight…

Julian flicked his wrists, his blades jolting out, his fists clenched. Bradwr did just the same, running at Julian, and he met him halfway. He dodged Bradwr’s first attack, slashing at him, only for Bradwr to jump back. He blocked, parrying one blade as he pushed himself forward, blade just managing to slide into Bradwr’s stomach, but Bradwr shoved him back, slicing at Julian. It nicked at his arm.

Assassin against an Assassin.

Julian rounded Bradwr, kicking him right behind the knees. It sent him stumbling, and Julian ran at him, ready to stick his blades right where it would kill. But Bradwr crouched, twisting around to block both of Julian’s blades, pushing him back with a parry. Bradwr came at him now, and Julian dodged his attack, running underneath his swinging arm, turning to face him. One of Bradwr’s blades retracted, and he reached inside his robes – very Templar looking robes but robes, nonetheless.

Julian didn’t want to know what he was pulling out, and he reached for the knives at his belt. He wasn’t going to be distracted by a bomb, smoke or lethal. Either way… “Not today.” He threw the knife, and rushed over, catching Bradwr as he fell. “My friend…”

Bradwr shook his head, hands finding the wound, where the knife stuck out of his heart. His robes had shifted, and Julian noticed bombs tucked inside. They were certainly not ones that would emit smoke. “Not friend… I betrayed the Creed long ago.”

Julian hummed. “And now you die for it…” He frowned. “Why? We grew up together, you were better than this.”

“You–” Bradwr jabbed his chest. “You got the mutations, you, who wouldn’t even train with a sword. But me, who trained hard through long nights? I wasn’t good enough. Out in Nilfgaard, I watched as my work caused chaos, watched how killing Templars destabilised society. Even when we replaced them with our own, people did not have the same guidance.”

Julian jostled him. “You mean the people were finally free to not feel fear and didn’t know what to do? They would have _learnt_ , given time.”

“Oh, don’t be naïve, Julian. People don’t learn. They don’t want your freedom.”

“Yes, they do. I’ve seen it. You’re just corrupted.”

Bradwr laughed, shaking his head. “You Assassins will never understand. The Precursors made us to be controlled. You cannot stop that.”

“No, I can’t. Not alone at least.” Julian cupped Bradwr's cheek. “Brother, if there is an inch of an Assassin left in you, will you speak of the temple you know about?”

Bradwr smiled, bitterly. “There is no Assassin left. End me, Julian, I have no secrets to tell you.”

He withdrew his hidden blade and shoved it through Bradwr’s neck, mercifully. Bradwr gurgled on the blade, and his body went limp.

“I’m sorry… I hope you find peace.” Julian closed Bradwr’s eyes and lay him down.

With a sigh, he stood and made his way towards the door…. Slowly leaving the room as if a stake had been driven through his heart, making him bleed and weep for one lost long ago. He swept along the small corridor, down the stairs, and went running out of the building without drawing attention to himself. Once outside, he breathed deep, taking in the fresh air.

Fuck.

Bradwr was gone… and there had been no hope that the boy he once knew was still in there. No, whoever that man was, he wasn’t the person he once held tight and called brother. Even so, it hurt, his death.

He couldn’t linger here… Not with a dead body inside a posh inn. He took to the rooftops and found a safe place to take cover behind, just to examine his arm. The blade had cut clean through his robes, and a nice gash lay across his upper arm. Hm, his robes could be easily stitched, and so could the wound. Though, it was one of the few wounds he had ever gained. With him focusing on only his targets, it wasn’t often he got into conflicts. And when he did, it wasn’t often that he was bested.

It just turned out that Bradwr still retained all his training, and he’d always been bloody good.

Julian went looking for Sein, curious for what had happened after the incident. But instead of finding him amongst a confused crowd with a dead body, he found a vigil at the centre of town, where people were laying offerings to the young woman, who was lying upon a few logs of wood that looked more like a pyre. Hmm… at least people were paying respects.

A few blocks down, Julian found Sein, who was leaning against a wall, a witcher in front of him. A white haired witcher, who seemed familiar. Julian leaped over to the building Sein was leaning upon and dropped down, jolting both Sein and the witcher. He stood tall, regarding the witcher with a raised eyebrow.

Of course he seemed familiar. He was the young witcher Julian had met in Beauclair. But as Jaskier… not his true self.

He turned to Sein, placing his hand at his shoulder. “What happened, with the woman?”

Sein smiled sadly. “I, along with others, helped get her set up in the centre of town. You saw the fountain, right?” Julian nodded. “It’s where they often respect the dead, only, this time, they had someone to lay flowers upon. Later, they’ll take the pyre up to the river, and set her down it, towards the sea.”

“That… sounds like a lovely ritual.”

“It is.” Sein gestured to the witcher. “Julian, this is Geralt of Rivia, a friend of mine.”

Julian smiled at Geralt. “Hello there.”

Geralt regarded him with a small nod. “You’re an Assassin.”

Julian laughed, shaking his head. “And how did you guess that?”

“Your bracers.”

He glanced down at his bracers, where two insignia’s were large and clear. Still, after almost two decades, he was still wearing the gift from his father. He really needed to get new ones. Something that he would design himself, to fit with who he was. “Because witchers learn of us…”

“Yes.” Geralt turned back to Sein. “What were you saying before?”

Sein waved him off. “Just that my ears will be open for any strange goings on. I haven’t heard of a creature lurking in the woods, but then, I’m not one for gossip.”

Julian barked a laugh. “Not one for gossip on monsters, maybe, but you are one for noble talk.”

“A different thing entirely, my friend.” Sein stepped to the side. “Now, I do believe I have never seen an Assassin and witcher stand side by side. You two look rather mighty as a pair.”

Geralt huffed. “I’m twice the size of the Assassin, Sein.”

“ _Twice the size_?” Julian gasped, offended to the highest degree. “Twice the–” He poked at Geralt’s arm, which gained him quite the glare. “ I’ll have you know that I am not half your size, if you cared to look, Geralt. An Assassin cannot be weak, we need muscles to survive.”

“And to run, and to fight, and to do that stupid climbing,” Sein listed, grinning.

“Don’t call the climbing stupid, you do it too.”

“Only because I have to.”

Geralt cleared his throat, staring directly at Sein. “I’m off.” He started walking away, towards the busy streets, rather than this secluded empty courtyard in an alleyway between several buildings. But just as he was halfway gone, he turned, eyes boring into Julian’s. “Nice to meet you.”

Something… There was something in those eyes that Julian recognised. Not from the first time they met, from somewhere else… “Nice– Nice to meet you two.” As Geralt left, Julian stepped close to Sein. “Who was that?”

Sein huffed an amused laugh. “What do you mean? That was Geralt of Rivia, like I said.”

“I _swear_ I know him from somewhere, but for the life of me, I can’t remember.”

“He’s probably got one of those faces or something.”

“I don’t think this is a ‘one of those faces’ situation.” Still, he shrugged, sighing out. “Well, it doesn’t matter anyhow. What does matter is, Bradwr is dead.”

Sein lit up. “That’s brilliant news, Julian. Say, did he tell you anything?”

“No… Nothing of any importance.” Just a conversation of why, why he had done it, why had he betrayed them. And then, he had refused to tell Julian anything. A shame, really. He had wondered what the temple was. But it clearly wasn’t a mission for him to take on.

Sein deflated. “Ah, well, no matter. Templars don’t always tell us of their secrets.”

“Even in death they can be… tight lipped.” Julian whacked Sein on the arm. “Come on, let’s go celebrate in a tavern. It’s been a rough day.”

“I can second that.”

Ending the day in a tavern felt right. After all, Sein had to witness Bradwr kill an innocent right in front of him, only to try and accuse him of it. And Julian had to assassinate Bradwr, who had once been his brother… Yes, a few mugs of ale were needed. Nay, _required_.

Hopefully, something good would come out of this day. With Bradwr dead, the world had taken another step back from order. And that was _good_.


	6. An Old Friend

Julian the Assassin was dressed in the finest robes, with stitching so beautiful it could have been done by the gods. He had better bracers now, silver, with a lighter silver decoration upon them, lines swirling down, with a decorated insignia near the bottom. Much more subtle than his old ones.

Jaskier the Bard had the best doublets anyone had ever laid eyes upon, with matching trousers to boot. Only dressed in the best clothes on offer upon the Continent. That could rival the finery of royals. He was also very… loose when it came to the etiquette of dress. Often, Jaskier was seen with his doublet wide open, embroidered chemise on display.

But a question remained… What would Julian the Noble wear? Nothing so extravagant or dynamic as Jaskier. But nothing remotely like the robes Julian held dear. The story was that Julian had been sent away to a school, and had attended Oxenfurt, gaining the finest of educations, and quite a few degrees too. Which was why he hadn’t returned till now, especially because he had been teaching, or that’s how the story went at least. So, it would make sense that Julian Pankratz de Lettenhove would wear something modest.

Yes. Something a little duller than what Jaskier would wear, just as fine, but not over the top. Perfect. He told the tailor exactly what he wanted, and soon found himself in an outfit fit to meet his parents in.

To return home… He hadn’t been there since he was six, and hadn’t seen his parents since he left the school. He had been far too busy, and they had their own work. However, they had been sending letters back and forth, and for once, it had been enough.

Now, it was completely the right time. For more than one reason. His parents were getting older, and would soon have to retire from their Assassin duties. And his father had mentioned in his most recent letter that something had to be decided, about the title Julian held, about what he was an heir to.

Julian stepped outside of the shop and rolled his shoulders, time to ride on, to the next town over. His ‘home’ town. He didn’t remember anything but his old room, everything else was a long faded memory. To him, the school had been his home. Not the manor.

The thought stuck with him as he rode towards the town, Lettenhove, as it was appropriately named after the region. He didn’t ride particularly fast, he wasn’t in a hurry. After all, it had been… what? More than twenty years since he’d last seen his parents. Much had changed. Julian was an accomplished Assassin, with… well, he’d stopped counting after the tenth major Templar had fallen on his blade.

It was an interesting thought, that the last time his parents had seen him, he had still been a child, training at the school. Learning the lute, and reading some of the books for the ninth time, while showing the rest of the students up with his skills.

Now… he had killed again and again, holding people as they died in his arms, with their last words spoken only to him.

When he arrived in Lettenhove, he was surprised at how colourful the town looked. How bright and airy it was. How the manor loomed over the town, large and well-constructed. As he neared, he noticed the manor had vast gardens, and a large stable. He rode straight for it, noting the guards that were patrolling the land. For fun, he activated his Vision, and the guards turned up blue. Ah, the red sash that lay under their belts. They were Assassins.

He hopped off Pegasus as they neared the stables, giving him a good stroke. He was getting old now, and probably couldn’t be ridden for much longer. It would be a shame to give him up, but he deserved a good retirement at some point.

A stablehand ran out of the stable, face red, brow furrowed. He was… angry? Affronted? “Who the bloody hell are you, and why are you approaching the Pankratz stable?! This is not public ground!”

Julian plastered his best smile on. “I apologise.” He nodded to the boy. “I am Julian, the son of Count and Countess.”

“No you’re not. Julian is still at Oxenfurt teaching.”

“I was, until my father summoned me here.” Julian took the letter out of his pocket, showing it to the boy. “I would very much like to get my horse set up in the stables. He’s an old boy, and needs rest.”

The boy frowned, narrowing his eyes at Julian.

“If you don’t believe me, feel free to get my mother and father.”

The boy’s eyes widened at that. Fearing getting in trouble maybe? “No, no, there’s no need for that.” He stuck his hand out. “Give your horse to me, and I’ll get him comfortable. You should see your parents.”

Julian nodded. “Thank you. His name is Pegasus, take good care of him.”

The boy took the reins and patted Pegasus gently. “I will. He’ll be safe with me.”

“Good.” Julian left the stables behind him and happily walked through the gardens.

They were much grander than the school’s had been. There was something in him, the remnants of the child perhaps, that just wanted to _run_. To be free in the gardens, to see all the flowers and plants on show, to run towards the manor and scale up its walls. He didn’t know why, maybe it was the instinct of the Assassin, to exercise at any given opportunity, to be free while running and climbing.

That… was probably it. Taking to the rooftops was what every Assassin did on a daily basis.

But, this time, on this particular day, he entered through the front door. The manor was impressive. Probably some of the finest decoration he had ever seen. Everything perfectly polished and well maintained. It was like being in a different world. Especially because it was so different to castles. There was something cosier and posher about this manor, perhaps because it was smaller.

He looked around in his Vision, spotting two golden figures upstairs. He went running up, dodging out of the way of a few staff. Huh, weird to think there were staff in this house. He really had known nothing about this place as a child, and still didn’t. It wasn’t as if he’d sought out the company of nobles in his free time, much less visiting their houses.

Bursting into a study, he found his parents at a desk. His mother sitting upon it, with a book in her lap, and his father sitting in the desk chair, writing a letter it seemed. They both looked up at his arrival, and grins bloomed.

“Julian!” his mother shouted, hopping off the desk, book forgotten. She ran over to him, pulling him into a hug. “Oh, my little buttercup, you’ve changed so much.”

His father joined the hug as well, arms large and warm. “Ah, Julian, it is good to have you home.”

“The same goes for the both of you.” He slowly pulled out of the hug and moved towards the middle of the room, beaming at them. “A lot has changed. I don’t remember you both looking so old.”

“Ay, none of that talk,” his mother said, poking him in the cheek. “You’re very… young for thirty-nine.”

“The mutations are doing their work.”

“Good. I would hate to think you were ageing, after all, you’re doing so much good.”

Julian rolled his eyes. “Oh, no, not this again. Everyone always says that. I’m just doing my job.”

His father chuckled, arms folded. “What you don’t realise, son, is that most Assassins rely too much on their bureau leaders to guide them. You were too stubborn to follow their ways, and now you’re known in certain Assassins circles as the Travelling Assassin.”

“Ah, yes,” his mother said, grinning. “The Travelling Assassin, who will seek to help and move on in the blink of an eye.”

“I spend years in an area, it’s not very often I’m in and out in the blink.” Julian shook his head at the absurdity of the statement. “It usually takes years just to find a target.”

“Still, you’re good at what you do.” His father ruffled his hair. “Come on, let’s sit down and talk, there is no time to waste.”

Julian straightened his hair and followed his father out of the study. He led them to a door at the other side of the corridor, he unlocked it with a key that was attached by a string to his belt. Inside, there was a long table, with chairs neatly tucked in. But this was not a dining room table. It had a map in the centre, of the Continent.

“This is where we convene with other Assassins,” his mother said, sitting down. “As you can see, there are no windows, and we usually keep the door locked.”

“A room to plan in?” Julian asked, taking a seat opposite her.

“Indeed.”

His father sat beside his mother, leaning his arms on the table. “Now, son, we have to ask one simple question. Do you want to take over from us? To be an heir to…” He gestured around him, “all this?”

Julian tapped his fingers off the table, his eyes drifting to the map. He noted some of the places he had been, all the places he had yet to go. All the work that was to be done. “I don’t know this life. You sent me to the school at such a young age that I don’t remember this town at all, never mind this manor. I don’t have friends here, I have no idea what Lettenhove is as a town, or a region. I would never be suited to this life, and tying me down would do no one any good.”

His mother thinned her lips, nodding. “We suspected as much. It is a shame we were never able to have more children, otherwise we would never ask this of you.” She turned to his father. “I think it’s decided then, we appoint one of our people here as our heir.”

His father shook his head, drawing in a breath. “But wouldn’t be suspicious that our son won’t be taking over?”

“I think it’s more suspicious that your son is approaching his forties, and yet he won’t age considerably for a hundred years,” Julian said. “It’s best that I pretend to be the eccentric son who cares more about teaching than taking over. I’ll even renounce myself as heir if you need me to. Or you could just disregard me entirely when I leave, and appoint someone. It doesn’t matter to me. I’m an Assassin, through and through, I will never be a Count. Not in this life.”

“Then…” his father began, “it is decided. I think it’s best to leave you out of it, the people don’t know you, and it’s fairer on you.”

His mother leant forward. “But you’re welcome to stay, sweetheart. We do have a guest at the moment, so be mindful that you can’t just run around the place.”

Julian laughed, throwing his head back. “What do you take me for? A five year old.”

“I take you for an Assassin who sees a big building as their playground.” She grinned. “Trust me, I did the same when I was young.”

Because when his mother left the school in the Blue Mountains, she returned home, to carry out her duties as an heir, and to learn how to be an Assassin amongst nobles, and noble Templars. Both his mother and father assassinated targets, but they were mostly information gatherers. It was best to know which noble families were Templars, as they easily had the more money than most Templars could hope for.

Julian ducked his head. “I had… thought about it.”

“I know, sweetheart.” She stood and vaulted over the table, sliding into the chair next to him, and looping an arm over his shoulders. “It’s good to have you here. We love you very much, you know that, right?”

He smiled at his mother. “Of course I know that.” As her arm retracted, he tilted his head. “Who is the guest? Do you entertain guests often?”

“No, not often,” his father said. “We have our job to do, and can’t always be worrying about guests. We do throw the occasional party, however, just to keep our cover.” His eyes filled with a sorrow much too quick. “We believe there to be a monster in the surrounding area, so we hired a witcher.”

“But the poor man wasn’t looking so good,” his mother continued. “So we insisted he get a good night’s rest and a hearty meal down him before he starts work. Although, we didn’t have the heart to let him leave, so he’s free to stay in the manor till the monster is gone.”

“That’s good, and very kind.” Julian glanced between them both. “You’ll still pay him though? I’ve heard witchers value their limited coin.”

His father scoffed. “Of course we’re paying him. The witchers are an ally, in ways. They keep the kingdoms safe from monsters, while we keep the kingdoms safe from Templars. They stand for peace as much as we do.”

Julian frowned. “Some don’t… But in general they do.”

His mother raised an eyebrow. “Have you killed a witcher, my boy?”

“He was a Templar. He killed my best friend’s parents. I had to.” He averted his eyes from the table, recalling how he’d stuck his blade into two arteries just to assure death. “But he was only one witcher. And I’ve met a few others who are good people.”

“That’s good.”

“To think, everything that a group of people can stand for, and there will always be apples amongst the bunch that will turn rotten.” Julian thinned his lips, thinking back to a few of his targets. Fergus, Bradwr.

“It’s been a long road for you, hasn’t it, son?” his father observed, eyes sympathetic.

Julian breathed deep. “Oh, Father, you have no idea.” He stood, brushing his clothes straight. “Is there a guest room I can stay in? I’d like to stay a while.”

Just for a small break. He needed it. The last couple years had been a bit hectic with targets turning up left and right.

His mother stood as well, hand coming to rest upon his back. “We refurbished your childhood room a number of years ago, in case you returned to stay.”

“Oh…” He smiled. He didn’t remember the room, so it being redecorated was a comfort rather than an insult or anything. “Thank you.”

“Your mother and I have some business to attend to,” his father said, standing. “I’m sure you can find the room on your own.”

Julian laughed gently. “I’m sure I can. I do have my Vision, after all.”

“Indeed.”

He left the room, his parents following behind. As they went off down the stairs, Julian explored the house, walking with his Vision activated. There were a few glowing white markings on the walls, no doubt from his ancestors. To leave messages only a certain few could see. It was a gift, after all. A special ability not all Assassins had. It was theorised all humans could develop the skill, but it took immense training, and it was so rarely successful, even after years.

Ada didn’t have the Vision. Neither did his father, but his mother had the skill. A number of Assassins Julian had met didn’t possess the ability, and had never trained hard to gain it either. Very few did indeed have the gift. It was so rare.

He was lucky to have it.

As he neared his room, with the door glowing gold, he noticed someone on the balcony at the end of the corridor. The person glowed blue, so, naturally, he investigated. There was an archway that led out to a long balcony along this side of the manor. It was something he vaguely remembered playing on when he was a child. But the memories were blurred, and too distant to truly remember.

He stepped through the archway, and noticed the person was dressed in black tough armour. Ah, this must be the witcher. And if the white hair was anything to go by, he knew this man. This was Geralt of Rivia.

“Hello?” Julian said, approaching slowly.

The witcher had been staring at the view. Which was lovely, with trees and fields, the sea on the horizon, and the sun setting. He turned to him, and yes, he had been right, this was Geralt of Rivia. “Who are you?” he asked.

“I’m Julian Pankratz. The son of the Count and Countess.”

Geralt furrowed his brow. “I… know you from somewhere.”

Julian smiled slightly. He stepped towards the balcony’s wall, leaning upon it. “You’re right, we’ve met before. This is the third time, in fact.”

“You’re the bard.”

“Mm. And who else am I?”

A moment passed on by, with silence lurking in the air. Julian was sure Geralt was trying to puzzle it out. He certainly wasn’t going to tell him anything. Geralt could make sense of it, he was a witcher. If anything, this was a test to see how well witchers could remember small insignificant moments with others. What could he say? He was curious. If he was remembered as the bard because of his face, or if Geralt could smell that he was the Assassin he’d met a few years ago.

Geralt inched closer, yet continued to stare ahead. “You’re the Assassin that Sein introduced me to.”

“I am.”

“How can you be a bard and an Assassin at once?”

“The bard is a cover, but I do play well.” He turned and rested his back against the wall, staring at Geralt. “I’m glad my parents put you up here. You deserve kindness.”

“You don’t know what I deserve. You don’t know me.”

Julian shrugged. “Maybe not. But what I do know is that witchers aren’t what some people believe them to be.”

“Hm, you don’t know the half of it.”

“I’ve seen enough on my travels to know witchers aren’t the enemy.” He turned back around again, staring up at the sky. “Oo, the sun is really setting now. Won’t be long until the stars come out. Did you know that certain constellations are brighter this time of year?”

Geralt turned his head to Julian, and there was an unsettling emotion in his eyes. “You play the lute…”

Julian narrowed his eyes at him, why would he say that without any prompt? “Yes, it’s my favourite instrument.” He smirked. “And the only one I can play, but don’t tell anyone else that.”

Geralt quickly shook his head. “No, not that.” He stepped closer, curling his hand around Julian’s wrist. “It’s _me_.”

“Who’s you? I know you to be Geralt of Rivia, no one else. We’ve only met on two brief occasions.”

Geralt tightened the grip, his eyes filled with… sorrow? Misery? Oh. Longing... “You like the stars… You knew every constellation. The eagle is your favourite.”

Julian stared into those amber eyes and saw the blue that was once there. He cupped Geralt’s cheek, staring at his face, this was… How could he have been so blind? It was. Oh gods, it was him. Those three precious nights... Where they let one another be seen, and all the emotion, and gods, Julian had tried to forget, so many times, but he could never forget how much he wanted to hold Geralt close and… and make him happy. “It’s… you.”

“Yes.”

“Geralt, I thought I’d lost you.”

Geralt closed his eyes, like he was trying to stop himself from feeling. “After our third meeting, I was given the mutations two days later.”

“Oh, oh, I assumed you had been sent out, or worse, died.” Julian swiped his thumb across Geralt’s cheekbone. “And yet here you are, here, we’re both _here_.”

Geralt held onto Julian’s other wrist, his small smile emotional. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too.” He didn’t waste another second. He launched himself at Geralt, pulling him close, wrapping his arms safely around him. “You’re alive, you’re alive,” he whispered into his hair, so happy to hold him, so happy to see the boy he had known so quickly and deeply, and so briefly. With his dark turned white hair and his blue turned amber eyes.

“I’m alive,” Geralt said, his arms around Julian’s waist. “You look so young, do you have the mutations?”

“I do.” Julian could barely contain a giddiness that wanted to burst from him. Geralt was his childhood friend, who he had missed so dearly. That third night, they’d taken a risk and talked till the sun began to rise. All Julian wanted to do was stay, or take Geralt with him. He never wanted to leave him. He pulled back from the hug, staring at Geralt for moment. Gods, he had changed… “We have so much to catch up on, my friend.”

“I don’t think you would want to be caught up on my life.”

Julian whacked his chest with the back of his hand. “Nonsense. I know you, you know me. I meant it, with my entire heart, when I said I missed you.”

Geralt glanced away, focusing on the horizon once again. “Once the sun sets I’ll have to go.”

“To track your monster?”

“Hm.”

“What is it?”

“Not sure yet.”

“Well, no matter. I’m sure you’ll do just fine out there.” Julian grasped Geralt’s forearm, tugging gently. “Can we find somewhere to sit and talk? I would love to talk.”

A small smile graced Geralt’s lips. “Lead the way.”

Julian didn’t know where he was going but he lead Geralt through the manor, peaking into the rooms. He tried to explain that he didn’t know this place, to make Geralt understand why he was so lost in his own family home, but Geralt had understood anyway. He’d heard the tale of Julian being sent to the school at such a young age. They did know each other, before, before everything they were now.

Before Geralt had been given witcher mutations and sent out to kill monsters. Before Julian had been sent on his first assassination mission. They were different people when they met and talked up on the battlements.

Eventually, they found a room filled with plush sofas and cushions littered the floor. Julian didn’t want to know what this room’s true purpose was, but he was hoping it was merely for comfort. He let go of Geralt’s arm and sat amongst the cushions, smiling at how soft they were.

“You’re just as carefree,” Geralt stated, coming to sit in front of Julian, but on one of the sofa’s instead of the floor.

“What were you expecting?”

“Well, I wasn’t expecting to ever see you again but… I– I thought you would be darker.”

Julian glanced down to his arms, he was wearing his bracers that went with his bard disguise, but they were still there, and present, in case he needed to fight. He was always expecting a fight. There was a chance, albeit small, that a Templar could be hunting him. He had to be ready, at all times.

“I am darker, in ways. But you are right, I haven’t changed as much as you would think a person in my line of work would.” Julian smiled, he had changed, of course he had, but he had held onto who he was, no matter how many lives he’d taken or would take. “I’ve held onto who I am with an iron fist.”

“Is it hard?”

“The job? Or killing targets?”

“The latter.”

Julian narrowed his eyes at his wrist, and stretched his arm out, flicking his wrist back. The blade jolted out, and he turned it towards himself, curling his hand into a fist. With his other hand, he traced the flat bit of the blade. “Killing Templars is easy. I know more than anything that they can’t live, it would sacrifice everything we hold dear if a Templar is allowed to carry out their plans. So, no, it isn’t hard.” He looked to Geralt, letting his hidden blade retract. “Sometimes, people have to die for the good of everyone.”

“You believe that,” Geralt said, quietly.

“I’m an Assassin, my training focused on the evils of this world. If for one single second we slip up and don’t stop the Templars, we _lose_. And not just the Assassins, everyone loses. They will enslave us all for their order.”

Geralt furrowed his brow slightly. “They’re that dangerous?”

“Yes. Without us, no one gets to live ever again.”

“You never told me that.”

Julian shrugged, picking at one of the cushions. “It’s a secret war… And I didn’t know it all back then like I do now. When you knew me, I hadn’t assassinated anyone yet. I’ve learnt a lot from the deaths of others, what people will confess when dying. Templars are rotten and set in their ways.”

Geralt stared at him for a moment. “You have changed.”

“Mm, yeah.” He smiled at him. “What about you? What’s changed?”

Geralt went quite for a long moment, which explained a lot about what changed already. This was not the easy to blush young boy Julian had known. Who was fascinated about the world. No… this Geralt had been tortured one too many times by the people. “I think you already know.”

Julian twisted his mouth, blinking a few times, trying to adjust. “The world has worn you down so early in your journey you’ve stopped being who you were and you’ve closed yourself off, making it even harder for people to see past the witcher and know _you_ , and so they hate you more, so you close yourself off more, and now you’re stuck in a loop. The emotion of seeing me again has been the most you’ve expressed to another person in weeks, maybe years, I can’t tell, and gods, Geralt, that’s awful. And true… isn’t it?”

Geralt just nodded, with sincerity in his eyes.

Just a nod. No words. Gods, what had the world done to him?

“When I found you in Beauclair, was that the first time?”

Geralt frowned. “No.”

“Fuck… I’m so sorry.” He scooted along the cushions and gently raised his hand to touch Geralt’s knee, staring into his eyes. “And the contracts?”

“I help people, I get paid. That’s… easier than interacting with others.”

“But it’s not _easy_.” Julian thinned his lips. “You’re good, though, I’ve heard.”

“Yeah.”

“Come on… my friend.” Julian searched his eyes. “Don’t be short with me, show yourself.”

Geralt turned his head away, his hair swaying to cover half his face. “This is me now.”

Julian rose to full height on his knees, cupped Geralt’s cheek and turned his head. He gazed into those amber eyes, they were so… He was in pain, perhaps at the thought that Julian would hate him now, hate the new person he’d become. But never, _never_. “Don’t hide from me, please.”

“Julian...” Geralt whispered.

Julian inched closer and moved towards him, in the next second, their foreheads were pressed together, heavy breaths exchanging in the space between them. Geralt pushed a hand into Julian’s hair as if to pull him closer. And the moment stretched on.

Just their breathes and the surrounding silence.

“You won’t believe this, but you matter to me,” Julian murmured.

“I believe it,” Geralt said softly, pulling back. His hand dropped to Julian’s shoulder. “I believe you.”

Julian smiled and rose to his feet, sitting beside Geralt. “Can we make a promise, right now?”

“Depends on the promise.”

“Let’s try to stay in contact? Our lives are very different now, but with the right methods, you can ensure a letter will make it to the recipient.”

Geralt leant towards Julian. “I think I can keep that promise.”

“Perfect. Because that’s all I want. To know you again.”

In absolute truth, all he wanted to do was be near Geralt and never lose sight again, because those years, all those years, he’d believed him to be dead more often than he believed him to be out in the world. But then… they only knew each other from those nights, and they weren’t those boys. And their lives… were incompatible. Being an Assassin, especially one who travelled, meant finding an area that required help and staying until they no longer needed his assistance.

But Geralt being a witcher was a different life entirely. He had to keep moving on, to the next town with the next monster. Staying in one place wasn’t feasible. So, they would have to stay in contact the same way Julian kept in contact with his parents. Through constant letters, and knowing where the other was heading next.

“If it helps, I’m heading to Cidaris next.” Julian smiled slightly. “I’ve heard the market is to die for, and it’s _overrun_ with Templars.”

Geralt’s eyes shone with humour. “An Assassins paradise.”

“ _Exactly_.” He glanced out the window, the sun had set, and the night had truly begun. “Is it time for your monster?”

“Yes.”

“Then good luck, my friend.” Julian stared into his eyes, serious in his words. “And _come back_.”

Geralt glanced away, his jaw set. “I will try.”

“Then that’s all I can hope for.” He stood. “I’ll see you when you get back?”

Geralt stood as well, a slight upturn to his lips. “That is if you’re awake when I come back.”

“Ah, I am a creature of the night sometimes.” He didn’t want to watch Geralt go off into the night to face something Julian always made sure to run from, or gallop from. Or… sometimes fight on rare occasions. “Have fun.”

Geralt huffed a laugh. “Yeah, fun. I’m sure.”

Julian rolled his eyes with a grin, and Geralt smiled. The moment of joy lingered for a couple seconds, then it was gone. Geralt turned and left the room, with a sort of haste that only a man that knew what he was doing could achieve. Julian hopped out of one of the nearby open windows and climbed up onto the roof, running to the edge. He dove down and came to sit on the ledge, watching as Geralt left the manor, walking down the long path.

There was a strength to him, in his stride, with his sword at his back, hair flowing, clothes blending with the dark night.

Julian smiled and tilted his head. Yeah, he missed the boy and wanted to learn who he was now, but he desperately wanted to know this grown man, who was so good at his job, he was known across the land.

He swung back into the house with the idea of the future in his head.

\--

Julian jolted awake, at the sound of something thudding against his door. He scrambled out of bed and slide his bracers on, tightening them against his skin, and also his chemise. He had no time to push his sleeves up. Light on his feet, and without a sound, he made it to his door, pressing his ear upon it. No more sounds… Hm.

He rubbed his eyes and slipping into his Eagle Vision, nearly gasping at what he saw. A blue lump leaning back against his door, head slumped. Fuck…

Shit.

It was Geralt.

Yanking the door open would result in Geralt rolling back onto the hard floor, so instead, Julian carefully opened the door, holding it with his strength to avoid Geralt slipping back too hard and knocking the door open.

It worked, sort of, as he managed to open it halfway. Now… for the delicate part. He let go of the door, dropping to the floor, catching Geralt as the door flung the rest of the way open.

Geralt was… heavy, but he was now safely in his arms. He curled his hand around Geralt’s chest, using the other to hold his head.

“Geralt…?”

“Mm…” came the strangled sound from his throat.

Not a good sign.

Julian slowly moved out from under him and lay him back delicately. He glanced over his body, finding his face covered in blood, his hair matted with guts, and a wound at his shoulder. One quick look over it told Julian that something nasty had caused it, and whatever dirt had gotten into the wound was likely causing a reaction. Maybe even promoting an immune response, which would explain the sweat. It was possible he was running a fever.

“Mother! Father!” Julian screamed, it was the only thing he could think of currently. To call for help.

But he was going to get no help like this.

He cupped Geralt’s cheek. “Very sorry to leave you, dear friend. I’ll be back, I promise.”

A small groan came as a reply, but Julian doubted Geralt was lucid enough to hear his words.

He reluctantly left Geralt and went running down the corridor, he knew where his parents’ room was, luckily enough, and he was going _fast._ Sprinting with the skill and agility all his training had taught him. He went flying around a corner, and skidded to a stop right at their door, bursting through it.

They both bolted up, instantly awake from their deep sleeps. Assassins naturally became like that over many years, ready to wake, ready to fight if a Templar came breathing down their neck. He wanted to run back to Geralt, so he spoke, quickly. Too quick.

“Geralt, he’s hurt, come help.”

His parents jumped up as if it was a practised exercise, grabbing the nearest gear and pulling it on. With his mother and father half in their everyday clothing. They all went running, fast and ready. He could tell they were ready because his parents were fast and looking strong, even for their age. Julian sped up as they neared his room, falling to his knees as he made it to Geralt’s side.

He carefully placed his hand above his mouth. Yes. Geralt was still breathing.

“We need to get him up and onto the bed,” his father said. “Eleanor, help Julian. I’ll run for some supplies. Bandages, cloths, needle, and thread. Anything else?”

“Water.” His mother turned to Geralt as his father left with the list in mind. She crouched down. “Grab from under his shoulders, and support his head. I’ll get his legs.”

Julian gave a curt nod and moved behind Geralt again, tilting him upwards and sliding his arms under his armpits, curling them around his chest. His mother grabbed his legs and they both stood at once, lifting Geralt with them. They carefully and slowly got him over to the bed, and with great luck, their strength lasted. Geralt was not a light man, and it was a struggle enough just to support one half of him.

Not to mention that his mother was sixty.

“Let’s get this armour off him,” Julian said, rounding the bed and climbing onto the other side, while his mother stayed standing at his other side.

“Yes, we need to assess the wounds he has.” Her eyes briefly roamed his body. “Underneath the collarbone left side, stomach right side?”

“Yeah, that’s what I was thinking.”

“Let’s get this thing unbuckled.”

They worked away at his armour, unbuckling it, and lifting it up off his body. They stripped away his undershirt too, having to peel it away from his wounds and the blood surrounding them. A quick assess of the two wounds told them that the one at the collarbone was deep, while the stomach was more of a glancing graze (but still deep enough to bleed badly).

“Looks like we’re buying you new sheets,” his mother joked.

Julian laughed, though it was without much energy. “Yes, blood stained sheets are never a good look.

“Ah, where is your father?” His mother walked over to the door, sighed in relief, and walked back in.

Two seconds later, his father came into the room, arms full of cloths, bandages, a needle and thread in his hand, and a bowl of water in his other hand.

“Let’s get started, shall we?” his mother said, taking the cloths from his father and the bowl of water.

They got to work in almost a way that would have suggested they did this all the time, with them all cleaning up the wounds and wiping the blood away. Julian dried the surrounding area, getting a good look. The wounds seemed to be clean, perhaps it was his potions wearing off that was causing the fever.

“Can you stitch, Julian?” his father asked, needle and thread in hand.

Julian nodded. “Yeah, yeah, with the amount of times I’ve had to repair my robes.”

His father smiled and handed over the tools. “Get into a few scrapes?”

“Not often, but sometimes people can catch a lucky blow.”

“Mmm, that’s all it takes,” his mother said. “Right, you stitch up that collarbone wound. It’s a bit too deep for witcher healing to do it alone, I believe. Aberthol, help me bandage his stomach.”

As his father and mother carefully bandaged him up, Julian got to work on the wound. He carefully used his efficient skills to close up the deep and wide hole. Only stopping to let his parents lift Geralt slightly to get the bandage under him. Soon enough, the wound was stitched right up, safely closed with expert technique, and his parents bandaged that wound up too.

Geralt was all done and dusted. Safe and healing.

“If he gets worse than his current condition, I suggest we get the local healer,” his mother said.

His father placed a hand at his hip. “Yes, I agree.”

“As long as he’s okay now,” Julian said. “He gave me quite the scare.”

“Son,” his mother said carefully, taking a step towards the bed, “do you know him?”

Julian gazed at Geralt’s restful face for a second, glancing away the next. “I, uh, used to sneak out of school to see him. It was an accident the first time, meeting him, I had snuck out of the school to explore.” He looked to his parents. “I was so _bored_. But then I found a boy, curled up by one of the lookout towers, crying. And he was _blue_ in my vision. Even before I knew him he was a friend. Earlier tonight, we realised who we were. We’ve met on two separate occasions before today, but we didn’t realise who were until tonight.”

He stared at them with a firmness. Daring them to scold him for sneaking out of school. For wanting to have a friend outside of the Assassins at an early age.

His mother rolled her eyes. “Well, why didn’t you just say?! If he was your friend, we would have gotten one of the staff to help us so you could have sat at his side.”

Julian wasn’t expecting that… Um. Okay. Interesting that they weren’t telling him off. Perhaps they understood. “I wanted to help. He needed my help.”

“Ah, darling,” his father said, “it’s hard to work on a friend, but we understand.”

“And for sneaking out of school,” his mother began, sharing a glance with his father, “I think we understand that too. You were so young when we sent you. If you had to leave the school to explore, then I think we’re okay with that.”

“Really?” Julian asked in a whisper. “I… only ever did it to feel free.”

“Then it’s absolutely acceptable!” his father boomed. “I would have done the same.”

His mother nodded. “As would I. Freedom is everything we strive for, after all.” She rested her hand on his father’s back. “Now, I do believe we should be getting back to bed. Wake us if Geralt needs any help.”

“I will,” Julian said, almost quietly. He had never been gladder to have his parents. They were always wonderful. And they especially proved that tonight, doing what they did without question, then accepting what Julian had done.

He was so _lucky_.

As they left, Julian pushed a pillow up against the headboard and sat back against it, eyes on Geralt’s well-chiselled face. He was so… well built, and _skilled_ , and even with that, all of the mutations and the potions, he could still get hurt. He didn’t want to see him like this, but at least he was safe now, and he would be okay.

At least he hoped… No, he would be okay. He was a _witcher_. And his parents didn’t seem to concerned so he was okay. Yeah.

He kept his eye on him for as long as possible before his head grew heavy and slumped downwards. He was off like a light.

\--

Julian woke to something shoving at him. He scrambled away from it, stretching his arm towards the danger. His hidden blade came jolting out, as he had clearly forgotten to take it off last night. However, as he blinked a couple times, he realised it had only been Geralt. He was lying on the bed still, wounds still securely bandaged, his eyes trained on Julian.

“Gods, I’m sorry.” Julian dropped his arm and his blade retracted. “Just– An instinctive reaction.”

Geralt thinned his lips. “I’m sorry. I would have done the same. It happens.”

“It does.”

“You bandaged me.”

Julian approached the bed, kneeling upon it. “Not just me, my parents too. When you slumped against my door unconscious, I panicked.” He smiled slightly. “You gave me quite the scare.”

Geralt breathed in slowly, wincing a little. “Sorry for that.”

“You’re in pain?”

“Only when I breathe too heavily.” He moved to sit against the headboard instead of leaning on his elbow. “You and your parents did a good job.”

“We are in the business of getting ourselves injured.” Julian chuckled, thinking back to all the stupid mistakes he had made. “We learn to stitch ourselves up quickly.”

“I understand that.” Geralt narrowed his eyes. “But aren’t Assassins masters of the blade and at combat?”

“Some are, not all.” Julian shrugged. “It takes a lot of training to be a master at everything you do, but most achieve mastery in combat first for survival.”

“Are you a master?”

“A master of my skills? I would say so, but I can always improve. A Master Assassin in rank? No, not yet, but I hope to be.”

“What does being a Master Assassin mean?”

Julian tilted his head slightly, sitting back on his heels. “Well… it means that I wouldn’t have to ask a bureau or the Council to assassinate a target. It would mean I would be recognised as someone who is one of the best and people will trust to learn from me. And it would mean… a lot to me personally.”

Geralt smiled, ever so slightly, but his eyes shone. “I hope you get that rank. Sounds like you really want it.”

“I do, more than anything.”

“Then keep going.”

Julian ducked his head and smiled. “Always.”

A knock at the door came then, soft and gentle. His mother. It opened slowly, and she peeked her head around. She smiled brightly and opened it wide.

“Ah! I’m glad you’re awake, Geralt.” She came into the room, and behind her was a staff member, holding a tray of breakfast. “I had something cooked up for you, considering how tired you must be. I assume the monster is dead?”

The staff member set the tray down on Geralt’s lap, ensuring it was stable. He handed Geralt cutlery and slipped out of the room as if he were never there.

Geralt stared down at the tray for a moment, as if it was poison. “Uh.” He looked up. “I did. It was a wyvern.”

“Worrying to hear of a wyvern around here…” his mother said quietly. “Ah, never mind.” She pulled a purse from her pocket and threw it at Geralt, he caught it with ease. “Thank you very much for your help. You’re very welcome to stay until you’re ready to head out.”

Geralt half nodded, looking more than confused. “Thank you, and… thank you for the breakfast.”

“No problem, my dear.” She looked to Julian. “Breakfast will be waiting for you downstairs.”

“Thank you, Mother,” he said with a gleaming smile. He was so happy she was treating Geralt well.

“Well, I shall see you both later.” His mother went whisking out of the room, closing the door behind her.

“Your parents are… kind,” Geralt murmured still staring at the tray.

Julian certainly agreed with that. “Much kinder than I ever imagined.”

“You haven’t… gotten to know them better since leaving the school?” Geralt furrowed his brow at him.

Julian fiddled, twisting his fingers, looking away. “Not really. I was busy.”

“But you said–”

“I know, but when I left school I was send straight to Oxenfurt. I didn’t have the time and my parents have a cover. Then I went to Beauclair. Cintra and Attre. Poviss. I chased a traitor around the Continent. I was too _busy_ to visit. So we lasted with letters.” Julian tipped his head back, his eyes a little watery. “This is the first time I’ve seen them since I was… fifteen?”

“It sounds complicated.”

“It is. The only reason I’m here now is because I’m both free, and my parents needed to see me. I’m their only heir… to all this.”

Geralt picked up a slice of bread, staring at it, before tearing a piece off and plopping it in his mouth. “But you don’t want it.”

“No, I don’t.” Julian sighed. “I’m an Assassin, through and through, to be a Count as well? I’d rather become a bard than that, if I had to pick.”

“A nonaging Count wouldn’t be easy to explain either.”

“That too.”

“Hm.” Geralt ate some more of the food. Porridge and sausages and bread. His parents ate well… Julian could only hope they helped the town. They were rich after all. “So Assassin is what you’ll be, for the rest of your life?”

“Until I die. Retiring isn’t on the cards for our cause. Those that do are always haunted one way or another, either by Templars finally offing them, or by Assassins who still need their help. I think… I’ll become a bureau leader in older age, or a member of a Council.”

“It’s a long time till then, you could change your mind.”

“On me fighting for the freedom of all against the order and tyranny of the Templars?” He smirked. “Never. Ever. If I don’t make it to old age and the Templars take me out, I’ll die knowing I was on the side of the people. That’s all that matters to me.” He gazed at Geralt for a moment, studying him in a way. He was eating his meal in a very efficient way. “What about you, what does retirement look like?”

Geralt swallowed his bite of food and shrugged one shoulder. “I’ll get slow and die.”

“Oh, _come on_. You must have some idea of what you want once old.”

“I… I don’t know, Julian.”

Julian smiled, nonetheless, just because Geralt was being depressive about his life didn’t mean Julian had to as well. “Fine, I accept that you don’t know. _However_ , I’m sure we’ll both work it out when we get there. Don’t ever think I won’t be popping round to see you even when I’m a few hundred years old and grey.”

Geralt took another bite of his food, and Julian had a feeling it was just because he wanted to avoid replying to what he had said. Probably due to Geralt’s pessimistic view on how long he would live for. When he swallowed the bite of bread, he said, “Did you want your mutations? Assassins get a choice, don’t they?”

“Assassins get _chosen_ for the mutations.” Julian stroked his hand up his arm. “I, uh, thought of the mutations as such an honour, I never questioned getting them. As for wanting them, at the time I did. I suppose, if I live long enough, watching my old friends wither away will become the hardest part. For now, my life is still normal. I’m only thirty-nine.”

“You look barely twenty.”

He shrugged. “I got my mutations at seventeen, that makes sense.” Smirking, he poked at Geralt’s arm. “You’d look barely twenty yourself, if it wasn’t for that jawline and your stubble making you look older.”

“Hm.” Geralt ate the rest of his food, staring at Julian as he did so.

“It’s difficult, the lives we lead, but you especially because your mutations aren’t nice…”

“No.”

“I… Ours… I was given a sedative and woke up like nothing had changed.” Julian blinked, glancing upwards, downwards, towards Geralt. “I’m sorry yours are not a nice process.”

“You were given a sedative?” Geralt murmured, brow furrowed.

“Yes… Oh, _Geralt_ , what is wrong with the people who make witchers?”

Geralt shrugged. “It’s the only way.”

“No, no, no. I won’t believe that for a second and you know why I won’t.” He shuffled along the bed and gave Geralt a brief and awkward hug. Though, it was gentle enough, and Geralt didn’t look uncomfortable either. “Sorry your parents couldn’t give you a good experience with mutations.”

“They weren’t our parents.”

“They’re the only parents you lot have.”

Geralt thinned his lips. “Yeah.”

Julian pressed himself alongside Geralt, for no other reason than wanting to be close. “My mentor and headmaster felt like my parents, but I grew to understand why my real parents couldn’t be there for me.”

“But they’re here now.”

“Yeah, and I’m glad to have them.” He knocked Geralt’s shoulder, gently, though, so as not to disturb his wounds. “I’m glad they helped you and are looking after you.”

“It’s… too kind.”

“Come off it, there’s no such thing. There’s only being _kind_.”

Geralt moved the tray off his lap and moved it to the bedside table. “I don’t know…”

“I’m speaking nothing but the truth.” Julian leant into him more so. “You, my friend, are just too beaten down and abused to see it.”

“We’re monsters so I–”

Julian flung his hand over Geralt’s mouth and glared at him. “Call yourself a monster again, _I dare you_.” He removed his hand, but his glare remained because what the fuck. “You are a man doing work for people who don’t even appreciate it. I know my parents’ goodwill is rarer than _rare_. Even more so for nobles. That my kindness shocked you when I pulled you away from those children throwing rocks. But before, when we were kids, you never thought yourself a monster. So remember that child and remember, _you are not a monster_.”

“You know what I remember, Julian?”

Julian raised his eyebrows.

“The kid that stared into my eyes and told me to feel.” Geralt smiled, but it was a private one, only for himself. Julian felt it had too much nostalgia and emotion to be seen. “And now you’re doing the same thing. I… I missed your optimism and kindness.”

“I’ll always be kind to you. Always.” He gazed at Geralt, memorising every single feature upon his face. “You were the child I saw as blue before I even said hello to you. You’re special.”

Geralt’s eyes filled with softness, and he tilted his head like he’d just let it drop to the side. “I’m glad we met again, Julian.”

“Me too.” He rested against Geralt, and in turn felt Geralt press some of his weight against him. “Yeah… I’m really glad.”

He curled his arm around Geralt’s shoulders and sat there, with nothing but Geralt on his mind and thoughts of what could become of them if they did manage to stay in contact from here on out. No matter what, Julian knew a bright future was ahead of them for their friendship. He could _feel_ it.


	7. Sorcerers

Julian stood before Tissaia, eyebrow raised. He was outnumbered here, if anything went wrong, if _she_ was wrong. “You’re telling me you have a Templar in your ranks?”

“I am. And they say you’re the best Assassin in the region. I need rid of this Templar to ensure the safety of my students.”

He understood that. Any threat to the students had to be gotten rid of. “Give me the information I need, and it will be done.”

Tissaia picked up a piece of paper from her desk, handing it over. “Name and current location.”

Julian quickly skimmed over the words. Hm. Novigrad. “She’s not here?”

“Not at the moment, no.”

“And you expect me to investigate if your suspicions are correct, then kill her?”

“Precisely.”

Julian hummed, pocketing the letter. “Then I will be on my way, _however_ , if you’re wrong, Tissaia, I will be back to ask more questions.”

Tissaia tilted her chin back. “I would presume so. I haven’t worked with an Assassin before, are you quick to deal with Templars?”

“Depends on the situation and the Templar. I haven’t dealt with a sorcerer before, but I would assume the element of surprise still applies.”

“Just don’t her know you’re there.” Tissaia turned and moved back towards her desk, taking a seat. “You wouldn’t want to fight with her. She’s strong and you’re… human.”

“Hm.” Julian smirked. “Now, Tissaia, word of advice?” She raised her eyebrows and he leant towards her. “Don’t underestimate Assassins.” He nodded to her. “I will see you when the deed is done.”

“And you will be rewarded,” she said in a high and mighty sort of way.

He only barely suppressed a laugh. “Oh, do not be mistaken, we never do this for money. It’s nice to have, but I do not need to be paid to rid the world of another Templar.”

“Then your people are more dangerous than I thought.”

“Freedom cannot bought, only fought for.” He smiled slightly and turned on his heel, heading out of the room.

Aretuza… What a place. With strong cold stone walls and a tower sense of superiority. Lots of girls – students – in blue dresses. It was rather strange, if anyone were to ask him. A seemingly innocent place. But he had heard the stories. Of Tissaia’s want to sterilise the girls. Of the cruelty that occurred here all of the time. He hated it. Truly. If the Assassins could have schools where the mentors were kind and no one was forced into something they didn’t want to do then… why couldn’t Aretuza, Ban Ard, the witcher schools do the same?

Those academies, schools, whatever one wanted to call them had been around for a lot longer, they had no excuse for their abuse. For their mistreatment of _children._ Sure, one could argue the Assassins were no better, as they trained young children to fight, to kill, to assassinate… But they _cared_. Julian likely knew that best. He’d been sent seven years too early, and yet, his childhood had been good regardless. All the children that had gone to schools felt the same. They had never felt mistreated, and if there was a mentor who had become an abuser, well… they were assassins.

He rounded one corner and heard crying which was… fitting and entirely proved his point. There was a small alcove in the hallway, a small cut in between two windows. Julian pulled his hood further down and slipped into his Eagle Vision. He could see no one nearby, just a curled up figure that glowed white in the alcove.

Slowly, he stepped towards the wall, and let his Vision ebb away. The crying figure was a girl, one of the students. Dressed in that awful blue they put them all in. He crept closer, peeking his head around the alcove to make himself known, but slowly, so as not to startle her.

“Hi there…” he whispered. The girl jolted, quickly trying to wipe her eyes. “No, no, I’m sorry. I wanted to check if you’re okay.”

She sniffled. “It’s none of your business.”

“Hmm.” He pushed his hood down and knelt on the floor beside her, only slightly hidden by the alcove. “What are you… fourteen? No fourteen year old should be crying alone while sitting on hard stone like this.”

“You know nothing.”

“Indeed, none of us know anything and we can never be sure what we know is true.”

The girl scowled as she shot him a glare. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“That the truth is complicated.” He sat down, rather than kneeling, tucking his knees against his chest, just to inch himself further into the alcove. “Why are you crying?”

The girl scoffed bitterly. “Isn’t it obvious?” She gestured to herself.

Julian narrowed his eyes, and felt a little like laughing at the way this place held itself to such a high place in society. _As if they were better_. If it was a place to be regarded as anything at all, then a girl wouldn’t be crying in alcove because of the way she looked. “Someone’s been bullying you?”

She turned her head away. “They said I’d never be beautiful, that I’ll never be anything.”

“Hey now. First of all, you are beautiful and anyone who says different is wrong. Second, don’t believe people who pretend to be more than what they are. If they were good people who you should listen to, they wouldn’t bully you.” Julian paused, needing to find the right words, just for this young girl who deserved more. “Beauty is horseshit and always will be. Look at you, you’re at Aretuza, that _means_ something. You’re here for a reason. Just because other people want to punch you down, doesn’t mean you should let them.” He smiled at her, even though she was turned away from him. “Believe me, you can do anything you want. And you don’t need beauty to achieve it. Embrace yourself, and tell everyone else to fuck off.”

She giggled then, glancing to Julian, but still ended up turned away from him. “You’re optimistic. Why?”

“I was raised to believe in the world, that change is possible if we strove for it. Be who you want to be, and never change yourself for others.” He lay back against the wall. “Because I’ve heard of the price one pays if you change yourself at this _awful_ place.”

“It’s not awful,” she whispered.

“Says the girl curled up in an alcove crying her eyes out because someone insulted her beauty which will never make sense because everyone is beautiful, as long as they are good inside.”

She looked up at him, directly at him, and her eyes were… so purple. It was shocking, in ways. He had never seen such purple eyes before. “What secrets do you know about this place?”

“Just that if you change your looks, they will take something from you.” Julian shrugged. “I’ve heard many different versions of what they take, just be wary, okay? You don’t have to change yourself to achieve your goals. And if you must? Be prepared to take that sacrifice head on.” He tilted his head back and forth, mulling that over. “If you change, they win. If you show them what you’re made of, _they can never win_.”

She shook her head, lips parted like she didn’t believe him. “Who are you?”

“My name is Julian.”

“But… what are you?”

“A member of a very important group that ensures freedom is kept for all. And that’s all I’m saying.” He gestured to her. “And what’s your name?”

“Yennefer…”

“Well, it was nice talking to you, Yennefer.” He inched out of the alcove slightly. “You don’t have to listen to my words or take my advice, it might not mean that much to you. But just remember, bullies are cruel because they feel like it, because people let them.” He smiled. “Don’t let them.”

“I’ll remember that.”

Julian hummed and smiled more so as he left the alcove behind. As he began walking down the corridor, he glanced back to see Yennefer sneaking out of the alcove, smiling slightly. At least he had done one good thing today. He hoped the poor girl could figure out how to best her bullies now.

He rolled his shoulders as he headed out of Aretuza. Time to ride out for Novigrad and investigate a _sorcerer_.

\--

Julian hunkered down on the roof, half hiding behind the chimney, his target was walking into the very house he was atop off, flowed by a man glowing white with information. He concentrated, like never before, on the voices below. He was a whole two floors above them, but he could hear. Especially with his Vision, it did wonders when focusing on goals. If he looked in the right direction, he could hear a quiet bird loud and clear.

“Look, I can’t get you what you need right away, Nifyne,” the man said.

“But I do need it. If I have any chance of getting to the Brotherhood to see how wrong they are, then I need them to believe the Assassins are their enemy.”

Hm, a Templar trying to destroy the alliance. Interesting… And since Nifyne was a mage, she could easily get people on her side. But how would she do it… It would be no easy task. Start a war? A hallucinogen? Forge letters to both sides? Anything or nothing could work, it would have to be a very well thought out plan.

“And how do you plan to take charge of the plans? You know the artifact search has been assigned to Sodden Templars.”

Nifyne laughed heartily. “I’m a sorcerer, Dorian. I’ll charge in and tell my plans for the artifact. Once it’s found, I can test it, see if magic will enhance its rumoured abilities. And I will make the whole of Aretuza believe they are at war with the Assassins, who will be so confused, we’ll be able to wipe them out in Redania. And then, the rest of the Continent.”

“But with the artifact, we can just control them all. That’s what the scrolls say.”

“The _scrolls_ refer to humans only. Not people who can harness chaos, not _mages_. We don’t know what it would do. Besides, people might have DNA to resist it.”

Dorian paced to the other side of the room. “Yes, that is possible, I would imagine. The Assassins still run around claiming to have a gift.”

Nifyne hummed. “I suppose we should get a move on. If we want this artifact sometime soon, then I need to talk with Templars in Sodden.”

Dorian rushed over to Nifyne, grabbing her arm. “You really believe it could work? That we’ll reclaim the mages in Aretuza? And destroy the Assassins once and for all.”

“If there is one thing the artifact is rumoured to do, it’s that it can destroy the Assassins.”

Dorian let go of Nifyne’s arm and nodded. “Then let’s go.”

They exited the house via the front door rather than the back, right into a busy market street and not a secluded area where he could safely assassinate them both. _Fuck_. He ran across the rooftops, jumping across large gaps, swing himself down at one point to hope from one sign to another, and ejecting back onto a rooftop opposite. As he ran and they hurried along, they eventually made it to a set of stairs at an area between two gardens.

As they went down it, Julian followed, entering his Eagle Vision just to be safe. All that turned up was Nifyne and Dorian in gold. No red glowing figures further down or in the distance. Interesting. He didn’t much care for where they were going, noticing this was a cave that likely led to the big manor house out past the walls of Novigrad.

He wasn’t bothered about their plot, with them dead they couldn’t carry out their plans. But the artifact? Now, he was concerned about that. He picked up his pace and swiftly walked along the cave, silent as a mouse, catching up to them. No one would see, no one would know.

As he neared, he flicked his wrists, hidden blades sliding out. He shoved one into Dorian’s neck, and used the other to slit Nifyne’s neck. He removed his blade from Dorian’s neck as he shoved him to the ground and caught Nifyne as she was startled into falling. She firmly covered her neck with her hands, blood seeping through her fingers.

He held her in his arms, staring with thinned lips for a moment. Watching someone try to hold onto life was never easy. “The artifact, what is it, where is it?”

“If I knew where it was, do you think I would be here?” Nifyne chuckled. “No, Assassin, I would be elsewhere, _obviously_.”

“Then what _is it_?”

“No, no, dear Assassin. You can work that one out yourself.” She smiled. “I’m sad I won’t get to see the face of the Assassin who realises what we’re after. It will be quite the fright I’m sure.” She locked eyes with him, fierce. “Templars involved in this, who suspect what the artifact is, won’t tell you a thing. We’re traditionalists, after all. You lot will figure it out, much too late.”

Nifyne let her hands fall from her neck, and the blood came pouring out too fast. She chuckled, her skin growing grey. She did not fear death. And throughout the moment, she was staring at Julian, a curl to her lips. She… knew what she was doing.

Oh, _fuck_.

He realised one second too late as Nifyne plunged a knife into his stomach. In the shock of it, he dropped her body, and Nifyne laughed, still staring at him, her life draining by the second. He stared down at the knife, wincing in pain. Shit, how had he not noticed she would take advantage of the situation? Of course a sorcerer would have the initiative to try and stab him while dying, and he was too focused on her embracing death, on her eyes, to notice what was happening.

“Good luck living, Assassin,” Nifyne gurgled, head falling back. She was… dead.

Just to make sure it was no sorcerer trickery, he checked her pulse, and yes, she was certainly dead.

He stood up, clutching around his wound. It had plunged right into him, so he had to get back to the bureau as quickly as possible. Doing any kind of running or freerunning would surely jostle the knife and get him killed, so walking was his only option.

He made his way out of the cave, _slowly._ The stairs were a chore, and it took a lot of willpower not to pull out the knife and simply run to his newfound acquaintances. But that would get him killed quick than it could save him. He walked, and walked. Through the many busy streets, avoiding bumping into people, and taking whatever shortcut he noticed. Some people noticed the knife and tried to help, but he waved them off.

And he kept waving people off. He needed the Assassins not concerned innocents. And the Assassins here had a skilled healer at hand, and if she wasn’t there, they would certainly know who to call for.

He was careful in his approach, and as he got near to the bureau, he found the ladder that had been placed near it. Only for a socially acceptable way to get to the rooftop, if an Assassin needed it to stay clear of suspicion. However, he had only now found out it was especially useful to use when injured, as climbing was a quicker way to die rather than to live.

Without jostling the knife, he slid into the bureau and made it down the stairs to the common area. Inside was the leader, and a few other Assassins. They would help…

“I n–” Julian barely managed as his legs gave way, and he fell to the ground, blood pooling around him.

“Someone get bandages and cloths _immediately_ ,” Aedus said, the bureau leader. “And someone get Elthia!”

Two Assassins went running in response, rushing past his head. 

Aedus appeared in Julian’s eyesight, hands at the wound, pressing down. “Oh, how did this happen? You’re one of the best.”

Julian would have glared at him if it didn’t hurt too much to think. Even the best sometimes got caught off guard. “I killed my target, but… she stabbed me. I– I didn’t notice.”

Aedus’s eyes went soft. “We’ll do our best for you, okay?”

Julian nodded, his eyes falling heavy. It was so hard to hold on.

“Julian, come on, keep those eyes open.”

He tried, he blinked and tried but his eyes just wanted to close… and he was tired. _So tired._ He really didn’t understand why Aedus was telling him to keep his eyes open. He just wanted to sleep…

What time was it? Was it time to sleep?

“Julian! Don’t you dare die on us!”

D… Die? No, he wasn’t dying, he was just tired. He tried to say so, but the words didn’t come out, and the world was dark, and he was…

\--

“Will he live?” Aedus said, tone grim.

“‘Course he will, he has the _mutations_ ,” Elthia boomed.

“The mutations don’t guarantee healing.”

“They stop ageing, what do you think that really means? They don’t heal better or too much quicker than others, but their cells can repair just that little bit faster. It makes all the difference for survival.”

“Hm, and are you sure he’ll live?”

“I’ve applied paste, I’ve given him my potions, and he’s _healing_. I think he’ll bounce back, as good as new. Just you wait, Aedus.”

“Okay. Okay, as long as he does. I don’t want to be the one to tell the Pankratzs that their son died on a mission I gave permission for.”

“It wouldn’t be your fault. Okay?”

“Okay. So, he’ll live?”

“Yes, gods, how many more times? _Yes_. Now go rest, I’ll keep an eye on him.”

\--

“Ah, there you are,” Elthia said.

Julian adjusted to the light in the room, his eyes coming to rest on Elthia’s face. He… was in a healer’s room, if the herbs upon shelves and potions on tables were anything to go by. In Elthia’s healing room, maybe? He’d met her on the way into Novigrad, when he’d come to the bureau, which he was still inside, obvious by the decoration upon the ceiling.

“I nearly died, didn’t I?”

“Almost, but we got to you in time. That knife nearly cut through a good few of your vital organs, but I managed to stabilise the bleeding. Your body did the rest.”

Julian breathed out, resting his head back on the pillow. “Thank the gods. And thank you, Elthia, I’m sure I wouldn’t have survived without you.”

“All I can say, you were lucky to make it across town to us.” She stood and poured some water in a mug. “What did your target tell you?”

Julian gently took the water from her as she handed it to him, sitting up. The action pulled at his wound, but as he rested back against the headboard, the pressure was taken off. “Not much. But eavesdropping told me that the target was looking for an artifact that would make the Brotherhood of Sorcerers believe they’re at war with us. Apparently, we would be so confused, the Templars would be able to wipe us out. Not just in one area, but the whole of the continent.”

“The artifact can control people’s minds?” Elthia questioned, sitting at Julian’s side once again.

“According to what I heard, yes. They say it only affects humans, and they couldn’t be sure if it _would_ affect mages, and that some people may have DNA to resist whatever this artifact can do.”

Elthia furrowed her brow. “DNA, what sort?”

“They didn’t say much, but they mentioned that it wouldn’t affect Assassins with the gift.” Julian thinned his lips. “I would imagine they mean Eagle Vision.”

Elthia shrugged, puffing out a breath. “Whatever it is sounds impossible, but I suppose in a world filled with Chaos, there is no such thing. I’ll report what you’ve said to Aedus, and he’ll tell the Redania Council, who will surely tell the rest of the Councils.” She pressed a gently hand to his shoulder. “You should take it easy, and stay in bed for a while. Your wound won’t simply mend overnight.”

Julian glanced down, gently tracing the edge of his bandage. “How long was I out?”

“Just for a day.” She smiled at him. “You’ll be up and about in another couple of days. Drink your water, and I’ll be back in a moment.”

Julian nodded, watching as she left the room. Ah, well, he was long overdue a rest anyway. He drank the water and left the mug on the bedside table. The artifact played on his mind, but it was hardly anything to be worried about at the moment. He was injured, and not likely to be running back out into danger this week. He did have to get back to Tissaia to tell her the good news.

Hmm… More sleep couldn’t hurt. He never really got enough. Always waking whenever there was the smallest sound. Maybe now was the time to feel safe and become well rested. He sunk back down the bed, and buried his head in the pillow.

For the first time in a long time, he was happy to fall asleep.

\--

“Come on, Daisy, don’t be lazy,” Julian sing-songed, laughing as Daisy nickered in what he imagined was disgust. “Just a little gallop, ay girl?”

She was tired, he understood that, and she was also smart enough to know that Julian was hurt. She was a good girl and their relationship was as strong as the one he’d had with Pegasus. He’d had Daisy for four years now, she was a fine horse who had enjoyed training. Had learnt plenty of skills too.

Julian was on his way back to Aretuza, only a handful of days after the assassination. His wound was… still very much healing, but it had begun the process and he would recover to full health soon enough. He wasn’t too concerned about it. It was his worst injury by far on his journey. It was a wonder that he was still here at all, never mind riding out only a few days after the event.

But then, he needed to inform Tissaia of his success. She would surely notice that his robes had been a bit messed up, and that they had been sewn back up. But luckily, Assassins were experts at getting blood stains out, so his vibrant brown robes only had the tiniest hint of red marring them.

He truly, _really_ , needed to get new ones. It had been twenty-seven years after all. He was just being sentimental about them nowadays.

After a bit of negotiation, he managed to get Daisy to listen to him, and they were well on their way. They weren’t far off, which was why Julian was beginning to get desperate. About an hour? Maybe. Something like that. He could see it in the distance… the academy that looked more like a prison.

When he finally made it, he strode through the place like he was totally healthy and definitely not injured _at all_. He hadn’t taken too much time to assassinate the target either, so he was sure Tissaia would be more ecstatic about that rather than concerned about why the ‘best Assassin in the region’ was injured.

He didn’t care what Tissaia thought, but he at least wanted to prove her words right. She was an important figure, after all. If she thought him to be good at his job, then surely… Not that he had insecurities. But it was nice when others recognised his abilities.

Luckily, as he made it to Tissaia’s office, unseen by others (he hardly wanted to many people to know an Assassin was here, again), he was glad to see her sitting at her desk, reading a book. He stepped towards her, hands cupped behind his back.

“You were right. Nifyne was a Templar,” he said.

Tissaia looked up at him with a bitter expression. “A shame. Did you find anything out?”

“Do you know of an artifact that can control minds?”

Tissaia narrowed her eyes. “I can’t say I have.”

Julian twisted his mouth, why couldn’t he work this out? Was this artifact the same one he’d been hearing about for years, and if so, what the bloody hell was it? It felt as if the answer was _right there_ but ever so slightly out of reach. “Nifyne said she wanted an artifact to make everyone here believe that you’re at war with the Assassins. Apparently, she would use that to wipe out the Assassins across the Continent. I think she wanted to turn your alliance to the Templars.”

Tissaia’s nose scrunched, a disgusted expression gracing her face. “Sounds awful. Who would side with the Templars?”

“People looking for power. Traditional Templars want order, but opportunists enjoy the power.”

“Interesting…” Tissaia opened up a drawer and pulled a pouch of coins out. “Here’s your pay.” She stood and approached him, holding the pouch out.

Julian took it from her, tucking it into his robes. “Thank you.” It would certainly go towards him getting new and improved robes.

“Right then.” She tilted her head. “I’ll do some research into this artifact. If the Templars are planning an attack against Aretuza, then I must understand what I’m up against.”

“Good. I’ve been hearing about the artifact for nearly twenty years, and I’ve never found out much.” He thinned his lips. “It will not be easy to find information on.”

Tissaia waved dismissively and walked back to her desk. “Nonsense, I’m a mage.”

“And they’re a group of people who have been around for a lot longer than human mages have been.” Julian spread his arms out. “Do not underestimate the enemy.”

“You sound scared of them.”

“Scared of their plans, not of individual Templars.” He turned slightly. “I should go, I have other work to attend to.” A lie, he had nothing going on after this, but he wanted to get out of Aretuza sooner rather than later.

“If I suspect one of my people is a Templar, can I call for you?”

“Of course.”

Tissaia smiled, but in a calculated way. “Wonderful.”

Julian bowed his head to her and headed out of the room, sneaking down the hallways of Aretuza as quickly as possible. A shiver ran down his spine on his escape. He really hated that place. It was as if it represented misery.

As he weaved through the corridors, he felt as if… someone was following him. Carefully, he rounded a corner, sticking to the wall to peek around it and– Well then. It was the girl, Yennefer. Sneaking down the hallway. Was she after him? Julian stepped out and smiled, watching as Yennefer jolted and ducked her head.

“You were following me, weren’t you?” he asked.

“I wanted to thank you,” she whispered, lifting her chin. “I haven’t let them bully me since you… said what you said.”

Julian placed his hands at his hips. “And yet you don’t believe you’re beautiful.”

She said nothing in reply, just stared with her piecing purple eyes.

“You _are_ , Yennefer. Believe that before you believe anything else.”

“How has the world not broken your kindness?”

“It’s hard to break someone who’s fighting for everyone. Kindness comes with being what I am.” Julian smiled at her with nothing but gentleness. “Now, Yennefer, promise me something, please?”

“What…?”

“Remember you are always more than what others claim you to be. No one knows you as well as you know yourself. Have confidence, and forget what people say. Once you move past that, you begin to live.”

Yennefer’s eyes twitched, narrowing slightly. “You’re too wise for someone that hardly looks older than me.”

“I’m a lot older than you.” Julian twisted his mouth. Should he speak of himself more? No… far too risky for someone who could become anything in the future. “Just trust in some of my advice at least. It might do you some good.”

“I’ll… try.”

“Then that’s good.” He waved to her with only three fingers, it was more casual and less formal that way. “Goodbye, Yennefer.”

“Goodbye, Julian.” She smiled at him and turned around, heading back through the hallway with a lighter step.

Hopefully… his kindness had made a young girl’s life better. All he could hope for now was that Aretuza wouldn’t destroy her. Because if it did… he didn’t fancy her chances at being happy. Regardless, he was glad his vast experience as an Assassin could help somewhat, that he had advice for the future generations.


	8. Master

Julian had been called to the Redanian Assassin Council. A message had been sent to Metinna, where he had been staying for the last year, but the letter seemed to be old and had a note attached that it had been passed around. As for the reason he had been summoned, he did not know. The letter did not give any clue.

But he was here now, in front of the very people he once asked permission to roam from. The four Master Assassins hadn’t changed, but they had aged, greatly. From what he knew, neither of these four had been selected for the mutations, despite being some of the best ever.

They stood before him in a semicircle, all looking impressive in their robes, as always.

“Julian Alfred Pankratz, do you know why we’ve called you here?” Aleksy said.

“No, Sir.”

“We’ve heard of all you’ve done. Stopping the Grand Master of Toussaint, and of Cintra, in such a short time too! We’ve heard of you freeing the elves and liberating the Dwarven communities in Poviss.” Aleksy turned to Elwira. “Am I missing something?”

“You’re probably missing loads, but the main thing you missed is that he successfully stopped Nifyne from using the Sorcerers to forward the Templar cause.”

“Ah, yes.” Aleksy grinned. “As you can see, we are impressed by your quick action and skill. Few Assassins are so dedicated to their craft that they would travel and rough it on the road just to get at the Templars. Many prefer the comfort a bureau can give in the form of backup and reassurance, but your independence has freed many.”

Elwira nodded. “For that reason, Julian, we are bestowing you with the rank of Master.”

Julian furrowed his brow. “But there are others who are far more deserving than me. I’m a mutant, I’m still at the beginning of my journey.”

“No, Julian, you’ve done what would take some Assassins decades to manage in short spans of time, and it’s all because you had the initiative to travel and improve. Without travel, you wouldn’t have achieved much in Oxenfurt, there’s not enough Templars there to prove yourself.”

Lesław put a hand to his chest. “I once did the same. Believe in yourself, Julian, you are as good as an Assassin as you are a bard. Not to forget that your cover as a bard is genius, unlike anything we’ve seen since…”

Idalia lit up. “Since Edward of Skellige.”

“Yeah, exactly. So, you see, this rank was bound to come your way eventually. Besides, you’re already of a considerable age, for a normal lifespan. We’ve had Assassins in our history that became Masters when twenty-four. You’re much older. However, this is long overdue and we’re sorry. You had left town when we sent the letter to Vizima, and it’s been sent from place to place ever since,” Aleksy explained further.

“Indeed,” Idalia said with a laugh. “We would have given you this rank a decade ago but you’re always on the move. We got lucky that you finally found the letter.”

Julian breathed deep and nodded. So this rank had been delayed _because_ of his travelling. That was ironic. “So, I’m a master now?”

“You are.” Aleksy gestured for him to come closer. “There is only one thing we require from you now.”

“What?” he asked, stepping towards them.

“What does being an Assassin mean? What is your opinion?”

Julian stood tall, cupping his hand behind his back. “We represent what sacrifices must be made for the good of all. We work in the shadows to bring about true freedom, so that everyone has the will to make choices on their own accord. If not for us, the Templars would have ensured all were controlled by magic long ago. We fight for people who can’t fight for themselves, who are beaten down by modern systems. Eventually, in our everlasting war, I hope that kings and queens batter their thrones and let the people decide on their leaders, a freedom none of us have today. Our entire Creed, our tenants, are a paradox. We must do what we disagree with to win small victories, to push the Templars back just a little more. Just an inch, just enough to keep them from overwhelming us. That’s what being an Assassin means to me. Fighting the good fight, no matter the cost to myself.”

Aleksy stepped forward, grasping Julian’s shoulders. “A good opinion, a fair description of what we live by.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Nothing is true, everything is permitted.”

“Indeed.” Aleksy stepped back. “We will let it be known. Julian Alfred Pankratz is a Master Assassin.”

Julian bowed his head. “Thank you.”

“Now, go, Julian. Show the world that we are not mistaken.”

He bowed out and left with a swish to his robes. Climbing up to the rooftops of Novigrad, he felt the wind in his hair. To be recognised… it was an honour. Perhaps now was finally time to get those new robes he had been saving up for. Well, he said saving up, but really, he was just sentimental about his old robes. But it was time… and what better way to celebrate?

And he knew exactly where and who to go to. Kai in Beauclair.

\--

Julian tugged on his robes, stretching his arms back and forth, trying to get a look at all angles, only to refer to the mirror as he couldn’t see it all. Blue and grey. A perfect combination. While the grey was warm, the blue was a dark icy tone. It suited him more than the brown, which came from a child exited to get out of white, and into the depths of the world, where it would be murky.

Now, this new icy blue showed the way his heart had gone cold when it came to Templars, but the grey brought out the warmth from the darkness, allowing him to see the light he was fighting for.

That… was perhaps too poetic for a bunch of cloth, but then again, he was a bard. Or more an Assassin who would disguise himself as a bard on occasion.

“So…?” Kai prompted.

Julian lit up and turned to him. “It is absolutely perfect. I love the colours, and the embroidery on the arms is so fine. The hemming and the details around each section of cloth is so masterfully done. I am grateful for your work once again.”

“I’m glad you like it!” Kai grinned a bounced up onto his counter, sitting upon it. For a man in his fifties, he was certainly quite childish at heart. Swinging his legs, and letting them bang against the counter. But then, he designed robes for the Assassins and was a blacksmith on the side for the hidden blades and bracers.

He wasn’t just an ally. He was one of them.

“Oh, _I love it_ , Kai. My old robes were so worn, I forgot what a new pair was like.”

Kai laughed. “And that’s why I recommend Assassins change their robes every five to eight years.”

Julian rolled his eyes, casually pointing at him. “You just want their money.”

Kai shrugged. “Maybe.” He gestured to Julian. “Your silver bracers go more with these robes than your last. You look _wonderful_.”

“Thank you very much.” He turned to Ada, who was leaning upon a wall. Her hair going grey at the temples, where she had it brushed back and tied in a bun that made her look older than she was. Her robes were a muted green these days, with golden detailing, and that classic red sash bright under her belts. He didn’t like that she was getting older. “What do you think?”

She folded her arms, pursing her lips. “I think you look very dashing in it, my friend.”

“Is that _all_ you have to say.”

She shrugged. “What do you want? To be told you did well picking your colours?”

Julian furrowed his brow, taking a step towards her. “Why are you being hostile?”

“Because you never visit? Not since you came to tell me the good news.” She threw up her arms “It’s been twenty-two years, Julian! Almost to the day!”

“We live completely different lives, you know that, I know that. I’m always on the move.”

“And yet you only come here to get new robes.”

“I _needed_ new robes.”

Ada pushed herself off the wall, eyes brimming with tears. “And what, you don’t need to see your friend? _Ever_?”

Julian placed his hands on his hips. “You didn’t make an effort either. You could have sent a letter, I can be summoned.”

She scoffed. “I never know where you are!”

Kai hopped off the counter with a thud. His shoes were quite noisy. “Alright, calm it, the both of you. I know I have no right lecturing people that are only ten years younger than me, but here it goes… you’re both idiots.”

“Wha!” Ada tried to say but Kai cut her off with a noise that did not sound human.

“Shut up. I have a no argument between friends policy.” He walked behind his counter, pointing at the sign. A sign Julian had always laughed out, but not today. “I see enough grumpy Assassins cross this threshold, arguing with the world, I see enough argue with friends, and I especially don’t want to see it. Not between friends,” He walked back towards them, finger pointed at them, “and not between best friends either.”

“Kai, you’ve known me a lot longer than you’ve known Julian, be on my side here,” Ada said, eyes pleading with Kai.

“No. I know Julian enough, and I know he loves you to bits. And I know you talk about him a lot. It takes two to have a friendship, so don’t neglect each other in the future. _Idiots_.” He puffed out his cheeks and waved his hand dismissively.

Julian turned to Kai. “Sorry for bringing an argument to your door.” He looked to Ada. “And I’m sorry for not visiting more. I don’t visit my own parents without being summoned. It takes a letter, a summon, to take me away from work. If you don’t travel, I have no chance at bumping into you. But I am sorry, I should make more of an effort since you’re bound to your post, and I’m not bound to any place. That said, I don’t leave an area once a mission starts.”

Ada hummed, her stare intense as she studied him. “Then I accept your apology. I’m sorry I didn’t reach out myself, however I would have done it.” She frowned. “It felt like you forgot about me.”

“ _Never_.” Julian took a step towards her. “I sent a few letters your way, of course I did not forget.” He smiled at her. “Okay?”

“Okay.” She tilted her head. “You look good in these new robes. Smarter. More mature. Those brown ones looked old and dated, like you were still clinging onto your youth.”

“No, not that, I lost track of time.”

“ _How_?”

“It’s easy when you’re travelling around the world, hunting Templars, chasing them down.”

She huffed, a smile creeping onto her face. “Right, you’re an idiot.”

He laughed. “I’m an idiot, yes.”

“Thank fuck that’s resolved,” Kai whispered under his breath, just loud enough for them to hear. As they looked to him, he grinned. “What? I know you both. Thick as thieves. You’re still friends, no matter the time that has passed. That’s how it works.” He glanced to his arm and flicked a piece of dust away. “Anyway, I have things to be doing and a shop to tend.”

Julian smiled at him, glancing to Ada. “How about a song?”

Ada narrowed her eyes. “What about that old tune you used to play… Family?”

He approached her quickly, hitting her arm playfully with the back of his hand. “Of course!” He went off running, too excited, hoping that Ada would follow behind.

He picked up his pace, pulling up his hood as he ran towards the buildings opposite, pulling himself up to the roof quickly. He ran across the rooftops with practised ease, these had been his playground for a year, it was as natural to run across them as getting back on a horse was after being injured.

He vaulted down a few beams as he neared the bureau, swinging over to a building adjacent, just to climb up. He used his momentum to twist up to the roof and ran off again, sliding into the bureau that had only been twenty paces away along the connected houses.

As he slipped in, he continued with his run, quickly making his way into the room he was currently staying in. He dove for his lute, taking it out of its case, sitting upon the bed, settling it in his lap. He waited for a little while, only for a few minutes, when Ada came skidding into the room, eyes bright, glaring at Julian.

“You’re quick,” she said.

“I learnt a lot of advanced techniques while in Oxenfurt.”

Ada snorted, loud. “Horseshit, you read those techniques.”

He grinned at her in reply, patting the space beside him.

“Definitely faster than I remember.”

“I practise a lot, all the time.” He shrugged half-heartedly. “What do you expect?”

“That you’d age like the rest of us, but you never will. You’re destined to age as slowly as ice melts in the depths of winter.”

“Don’t remind me,” he grit out, bitterly.

There was a pause to Ada then, eyes focused slowly on his downcast ones. “You’re scared I will die.”

“Not scared you will, scared for when. We’re Assassins, our jobs can catch us at any time, but the older you get, the more likely it will happen sooner.” He placed a hand at her shoulder, staring into her eyes. “I don’t want to outlive you by centuries, but I will if nothing catches us sooner. And it will hurt like fire burning into my scalp.”

Ada frowned, sighing. “Who knew the opportunity would be a curse?”

“Me?” He chuckled, letting his hand drop. “I read all the books the school had. A few mentioned the mutations and that it was best to be cautious. I was just so… ready for anything, that I never considered what the price would be.” He smiled sadly. “Look at me, look at you, I’m two months older than you.”

“And yet people could think I’m your mother…”

“Exactly.” He rested his fingers upon the strings. “Are you ready?”

She lay back on her hands. “Make me feel like I’m young again, listening to this song for the first time.”

The soft beginning… It was something he had loved since he had first played the piece. He’d spent many hours changing up the song, making it different in terms of tone, but this softness at the start, he never got rid of that. Vocalising came in quicker than he ever realised, and the more he played the song, the more he’d become used to each note, how every part was sung, played, and introduced.

It was grace, it was hope, it was the future and the past. It was emotional. It was generations. It was now and it was then. It was the melody to express what being an Assassin meant, the song to go alongside them, the tune that brought them together, that linked them.

It was as the name suggested.

And now the piece came to him like a dream passing through his mind at night. Seamless and so real, but with a hint of fiction. Because this piece didn’t bring in the darkness that an Assassin was. It was too hopeful. Perhaps for the future they craved. It was their motif, but it wasn’t all they were. No, that required specific themes for every Assassin that ever was.

Because they were all different.

Where Julian was light-hearted even after years, Ada was bitter and had lost most of her humorous touch that had been so present twenty years ago. Many people Julian had met had a tune to be made for them, something to be weaved just for them.

And yet, he still believed this piece stood for them all. Of those before, now, and after.

As he finished off the melody, and his voice faded, he let the strings ring out with the dying notes as glanced to Ada. “Is it still good?”

“Even better,” she said softly, sitting back up. “You’re much better with that lute compared to the last time I saw you.”

“Twenty years can teach a lot.”

“It can teach more than most will ever know.” She grinned at him, wrinkles at her eyes bright with all the happiness that had been in her life. “Now that I know you’re a master of the strings, you must play another tune.”

Julian hummed, staring down at his lute for a moment. “How about… Nothing Is True.”

Ada’s eyes went wide. “That’s a piece?”

Yes, it was rather strange someone had named a song after their very meaning as a Creed. “Indeed it is. Written by a Dorian. I have no idea if that’s a first or last name.”

“Well, take it away!”

He began playing immediately, the beginning needed that darker tone, of a realisation, after a loss. The Creed could bring great pain to those not knowing of its warnings. This… was a melody that stated that outright. It was much more than that too, it had a deeper meaning, but the beginning said so much, it was the part that Julian focused on.

Because nothing was true, and every Assassin would realise what that meant well and truly one way or another.

\--

Julian smiled as the fire sparked to life. He comfortably sat back and stared at the flames. The last few days on the road had been rough. He was running out of his rations quickly, and the weather had been awful. He was used to it, of course. But it was never nice, or enjoyable. Just part of being someone who travelled.

A sigh escaped him before he could stop himself. He knew they had been old when he had heard the news, but it was shocking, nonetheless. The Assassins the Redanian Council had been training up had taken over after their deaths, and Julian had yet to meet them. And most likely wouldn’t for a long while. But that wasn’t why he was returning to Redania. No, their deaths had happened two years ago, and the news had only reached him two months ago.

He was merely thinking about them because he was thinking about another death. Julian brought his knees to his chest, wrapping his arms around them. Marceli had died, just last week, and someone had known Julian was in Carreras. Possibly because just a _month ago_ Julian had sent a letter to Marceli to ask how he was and how was Oxenfurt.

He had replied that everything was fine. With absolute joy in his letter. Talking about how wonderful retirement was and that he was in good health.

A lie, because the Assassin who had sent the letter to him explained Marceli died after being ill for a long time.

But then that was life, as people got older, they liked to hide things from people, especially those who were not as close as they once were. Because it was easier to lie to someone who wasn’t there. But… _fuck_ , Marceli. Him being dead was… It was the start, he knew that. Everyone he had met back in his earlier days, that were older and more experienced were either dead or dying.

Some he wasn’t close enough to be summoned, but for people like Marceli, he had to pay his respects. The man had made him into the Assassin he was today, carefully mentoring him. Until Julian had outgrown the place. They hadn’t been on the best of terms when he had left, but they had made amends over the years.

A screech erupted up high, and Julian was on his feet, head tipped upwards. A griffin, coming straight down from the sky. He rolled out of the way as it landed, roaring as if it was defending something. He’d just been _sitting_ , but apparently, the griffin had taken offence to that.

The griffin came running at him, and he focused on it, hidden blades jolting out. As it neared, he dodged, catching its leg, and thrusting his blade inside, twisting slightly as he pulled it out. The griffin fell on its side, squealing. With a quick step towards it, he repeatedly stabbed into its belly, until the thing squirmed away.

Julian pulled back, blades dripping with blood. He hunched down, readying himself. The griffin got to its feet, beating its wings off the ground. He walked towards it, and it raised a wing, ready for a swipe. Julian ducked underneath it, sticking one blade into the griffin, running along its side. His blades were strong, and the griffin’s skin and flesh was no match for a perfectly crafted ancient weapon.

He backed away from it quickly, avoiding another strike. And when it came at him, clearly trying to tackle him, he grabbed a chunk of its mane, pulling it down, shocking the griffin into tripping, falling on its side once again. With swift action, Julian drove one blade into its neck, twisting roughly. He pulled it out just as quick, puncturing its neck again with his other blade. The poor thing tried to writhe, but with the second hit, it went limp.

Just to be sure of its death, Julian pulled out his sword and swung it down on the griffin’s head. The thing disconnected from the neck easily, and rolled along the ground.

With a sigh of relief, Julian sheathed his sword.

“That is the stupidest thing I’ve ever seen.”

Julian turned quickly, his face blooming as he noticed Geralt at the side-lines, arms crossed, a shocked tint to his expression. “Not the first time, won’t be the last.”

Geralt tilted his head as if Julian was the dumbest arsehole he’d ever met. “You have a sword.”

“And I have two quick blades. Think of them as daggers.”

“No one should be taking griffins down with daggers.”

Julian shrugged, returning to his fire. “Well, I learnt from a few people in my time. Being on the road is hard enough, so they taught me how to fatally wound quickly to save myself.” He gestured to Daisy. “Or to run.”

“Hm. Either way, you’re an idiot.”

“I killed it, _didn’t I_?”

“Not my point.” Geralt approached, and sat down next to Julian. “You did well in your stupid way.”

“I’ve been on the road long enough, killing griffins is easy, as long as they don’t hop into the sky. If they do that, rather than stay on the ground, I run, _fast_.”

“Good. I don’t want you getting hurt in your stupidity.”

Julian shoved at Geralt’s shoulder with a playful touch. “Come off it, I’m more skilled than you could ever imagine. Just because most Templars are human does not mean I don’t know how to handle myself in other fights.”

Geralt chuckled, shaking his head. “You are… Hm.”

“I’m hm?”

“Yeah.”

Julian laughed. “You’ve always been so good with words.”

“You were always better.”

“Mmm, yeah.” He gazed at Geralt for a moment, he looked well, like the world had been treating him well since the last time he saw him. Which was that short period of a few days back when they were both at the manor. Since then a few letters had been exchanged but nothing to extravagant. Strange to think it had been twelve years since he’d seen him in person. “What brings you out here for us to cross paths?”

Geralt glanced over his shoulder, staring at the corpse that was surely beginning its long process to rot. “The locals said there was a griffin taking their livestock, and some of their people.”

Julian raised his eyebrows, looking to the griffin himself. “Is that it then?”

“I would think so, they only mentioned one.”

“Well, you can take the head back as proof.”

“I wasn’t looking forward to the fight anyway.” Geralt smiled slightly, such a soft and gentle thing. “You did me a favour.”

Julian grinned and bowed his head. “Glad to be of service, my good friend.”

Geralt stared at the fire, there was something intense about it. Like he was struggling in some way. Julian understood Geralt, to a certain degree, and he was willing to bet it was the excessive use of the word friend that was getting to him. “I missed you.”

“And I missed you.” He chuckled, with such a bitter tone it was rough to his own ears. “I am so used to letters with everyone else, but with you…”

“I know.”

“But _why_?”

Geralt gritted his teeth, shaking his head. “I don’t know.”

Julian’s eyes were set on Geralt’s, there was something in both their gazes that simply could not be explained. Not by him, certainly not. “Is it… nostalgia? Are we missing what we had when young? Before… the world got to us?”

“The world had gotten to us.”

“You were crying…”

“And you seemed so old.”

Julian hung his head, drawing in a breath and sighing out. “There was something to us even then, when we were learning but hadn’t quite learnt.”

Geralt shuffled closer, a tentative slow hand reaching out, landing upon Julian’s back. “Where are you heading next?”

“Oxenfurt. My old bureau leader died last week, I’m going for the funeral.”

“Were you close?”

“For a time, while I was there…” He bit at his lip, trying to keep from crying. He shouldn’t have been upset over Marceli, but he was. “I miss him now he’s gone.”

“Hmm. It can be like that.”

“Yeah.” Julian glanced up at Geralt, taking in those beautiful eyes. “But it’s okay, he was old. And it was a natural death.”

Geralt blinked slowly, as if he was trying to process the information. “Your people don’t die naturally often?”

“They do, but it’s rarer than being assassinated ourselves. There’s a lot of us, but a lot of us die early in our lives.” Julian shrugged, as if it was nothing. It was why there were so many revenge plots… Assassins hunting Templars because they killed someone close to them. Templars killing Assassins for the same reason. It wasn’t always solely to do with their war.

“Hm. It’s part of the risk?”

“Indeed it is.”

Geralt’s hand fell away from his back. “How long will you be in Oxenfurt?”

“Not sure, maybe a month. I’m planning to go to Dillingen, they’re having problems with the Templars amassing there. It’s strange.”

“I thought… If you’ll be in Dillingen for a while, maybe I could visit you there?”

Julian smiled slightly, eyes going all soft. “Are you suggesting I tell you which city I’ll be stationed at next so you can visit me?”

“Yes.”

“That sounds _wonderful_. It’ll help us stay in better contact too.”

Geralt’s lips twitched upwards, and this time, it actually bloomed into a smile. “Good. That’s what I want.”

Julian wanted nothing more than to reach out for Geralt’s hand and hold on tight, but he restrained himself, smiling instead. “I want that too.”

“I’m… glad.”

“Now, have you eaten?” Julian asked, turning more towards him, as if he was putting his foot down, accepting nothing but an actual answer.

Geralt stared into Julian’s eyes, like he was challenging him, but backed down as his shoulders slumped. “No.”

“Right, I’ll go catch us a deer.”

“ _No_ , I can’t trust you to catch a deer.”

Julian folded his arms, pouting. “Why not?”

“You’ll stick your hidden blades in it and…” Geralt shook his head, over and over, eyes suspicious. “I don’t know what you will do to it, but I don’t trust you.”

A burst of laughter erupted from Julian, finding it absurd that his fight with the griffin had startled Geralt so much. He did it all of the time. “Alright, my dear friend, you can go catch the deer. I’ll tend to the fire.”

The suspicions did not leave Geralt’s eyes. Yet, he nodded and stood, looking at Julian as if he couldn’t be trusted with a fire either. “I’ll be back soon.”

“Be careful…” Julian watched as Geralt walked into the woods, equipped for a lot more than just a deer. He was beautiful and strong and the person he cared about so deeply that it shocked him to his core every time he thought about it. “Always come back, my white wolf…”


	9. Stregobor

“Do you know where I put my shirt?” Geralt asked, pacing around the room.

Julian, who was currently reading through a notebook, half bored out of his mind due to the lack of information, blankly said, “Which shirt?”

“The black one.”

“Which black one?”

Geralt opened a drawer. “The soft one.”

Julian turned a page, resting his head on his hand. (A dangerous move considering his blade was just inches from his throat, but he was bored.) “It’s in the wardrobe, at the bottom, underneath one of my doublets.”

“ _Why_?”

“Because you put it there, and I didn’t move it.”

Geralt groaned as he walked over to the wardrobe, yanking it open.

Julian glanced to him, smiling at this wonderfully stupid man he so dearly wished he could kiss silly. “Don’t make a mess.”

Geralt glanced to him, half glaring. “I wouldn’t have to make a mess if we kept our things separate.”

“Look, I’m not responsible for your clothes.” He turned back to his book. “What I am responsible for is killing this Templar looking for a certain artifact I still don’t know much about.”

“Why kill him? You could learn from him.”

“A Templar looking for something is never good, better to kill him before he finds anything.” Julian snapped the book shut, turning in his chair to face Geralt. “I think that’s enough for today.”

“Hm.” Geralt took his shirt out of the wardrobe, shaking it out. A piece of paper fell from it, drifting to the ground. Meanwhile, Geralt pulled on the shirt, very disappointedly covering up his abs. Julian really liked how strong his body was, thick with muscle. Very stocky, which was where the strength came from. “You push yourself.”

“I don’t push myself enough.” He stood and approached Geralt, ducking down to pick up the paper. “I can always be better.” He briefly skimmed the paper, which turned out to be a letter of some kind. Not one he had seen before. Hmm.

“You’re already a Master Assassin, what more do you have to prove?”

“Nothing but to do what I was… trained… to...” He flipped the paper over, the words sucking him in. Was… Wait.

Geralt placed a hand at Julian’s upper arm. “What is it?”

“It’s what I need.” Julian pointed to the paper, tapping it. “Not _exactly_ what I need, but it’s a lead.”

“What kind of lead?”

“Nioclaec is friends with a mage who seems to keep in regular contact with him. I’ve seen references to a mage...” Julian walked backwards, narrowly avoiding a chair as he turned to his research. “Yes, this is perfect.” He set the paper down and sat, opening the notebook to study it once more. “I can perhaps work out where this mage is.”

“Hm, good luck with your research.” Geralt grabbed his bag, and from the sounds of it, checked through it. He got on his armour as Julian scoured the book, skimming each line. And by the time he was done, Julian was halfway through, with nothing new yet, but well on his way. He approached Julian, looking over his shoulder. “I’m heading north, I’ll be back down here in a few months.”

“Good.” Julian glanced up at him with a grin. “I’ll be here, awaiting your return. And if I have to move on, I’ll tell you.”

Geralt got a serious look in his eyes. “Don’t anger a mage.”

“I’ll try not to.”

“Okay.” A curt nod and a pat on the shoulder followed. “Goodbye, for now.”

“See you when I see you.”

As Geralt left the room, Julian focused on one paragraph of the book. It talked of the mage leaving Ban Ard and heading to… ah, _perfect_. This entry wasn’t too old, there was a great big chance the mage was still in this town. Julian jumped out of his seat, grabbing his things from around the room. It was a perfect way to find Nioclaec, who was better off dead sooner rather than later.

And if this mage, Stregobor, turned out to be a Templar (he had heard a tale about the man that he didn’t like too much) then he’d kill him too.

Right then. Julian tugged on his robes and pulled up his hood, grabbing his bag and lute. Off to Blaviken.

\--

Julian crouched, creeping up to the edge of the roof, glancing down. There was Stregobor, strolling down the street. If the rumours about this man were true, then Julian really wished he could stick a blade in his throat right here and now. But he stuck by the philosophy that they were only to kill Templars, and at that, only kill who needed to die and no more.

He scaled down the building, landing softly and blending with the crowd. He gently pushed people out of the way, catching up slowly but surely. As they reached the edge of the street, where the crowd thinned out, Julian lunged forward. He grabbed Stregobor from behind, curling his arm behind his back and pressing his hidden blade against a fatal position.

“Don’t move, and don’t try to do any magic, or I will cut you down. I just need information,” he said, low, into his ear.

“What information?” Stregobor grit out.

“Your friend, Nioclaec, where is he?”

“Why do you want to know?”

“Do you know what he is?”

Stregobor paused, as if he was trying to decide what Julian was talking about. “Yes. He’s a Templar.”

Julian let his voice deep dangerously low and rough, embodying the very danger his people were seen as. “Then you know why.”

Stregobor grunted as he tried to struggle, but Julian kept his grip firm. “You’re an Assassin.”

“Indeed. Tell me.”

“Last I heard he was in Yspaden. Now, let me go, before I show you what I can do.”

Julian leant towards his ear. “You’re in no position to be making threats. Do not think you’re immune. If you’re a Templar–”

“I’m not.”

“We shall see.” He pushed him from his grasp, and kicked him down for good measure. He dropped a smoke bomb and dove for the nearest building, climbing up. As he pulled himself onto the roof, he noticed Stregobor was gone. Hm. Weasel.

Well, to Yspaden it was. He made his way across the rooftops as if he was running through fields, it was so effortless and easy, with all his skill backing him up to do silly moves to show off to people who couldn’t even see him. He slipped down to a sign sticking out of a building opposite the stables, then jumped to the ground, walking with ease, like he hadn’t just run across half the town.

Daffodil greeted him with a snort, and he treated her with an apple. And soon enough they were off towards the town that had started Julian’s adventure long ago, when he picked up those brown robes. He hadn’t swung by the town since, it barely had any work due to the fact it was very much an Assassin controlled town. Most Templars stayed clear, as most were killed before they even had a chance to set up shop.

But apparently Nioclaec was one of the brave few who had managed to survive there for a while.

When he eventually made it to the town, he set Daffodil up in the stables immediately and began patrolling the town for any sign of anybody talking about Nioclaec. He climbed to the highest point, a spire on top of the town hall. He closed his eyes and focused, activating his Vision to concentrate on all the noises, all the conversations.

“What? And you don’t think I don’t want to get into the _ball_ tonight, if you could even call it that,” a man said, briskly walking down the street, alongside another man.

“Of course I know _that_. But listen to me, old fellow, I know a back entrance.” The man dangled a key on his finger. “Pinched it off that lad who cleans the silver.”

“ _Oh_ you are _brilliant_!”

The two man went scampering off down the lane, stopping by a man selling baked goods. Hm, okay, there was a ball happening tonight. What was the chance of Nioclaec attending that?

“I think you just want to please her,” a woman said, holding up her skirts as she stepped over some horse poo.

“Oh, pish posh. I don’t want to do anything,” another woman said, leaning in close to the other’s ear. “I just want to see her.”

“Mhmm. Okay. And what about that man you’re courting?”

“Nioclaec?” She laughed. “He can rot for all I like, my interests don’t lie with him anymore.”

“Right, because they lie with Francesca?”

“ _Precisely_. Besides, I don’t care if he’s going to the ball tonight, I won’t even look at him twice.”

The other woman chuckled, avoiding a horse that turned its head to her like the plague. “Good, because I hear he’s having a private meeting with the lord before the party.”

“Of course he is, because he’s a waste of space who pretends to be important.”

Julian leapt off the spire, falling into the haystack below. Never an easy fall, but he always did it right. He hopped out of the hay and brushed himself down. Well then. He had an infiltration opportunity and an idea of where his target would be. It was perfect. And he was especially lucky he had come at such an opportune time to hear both those conversations.

He strolled up the path, passing by the two men talking to the baker, who had a whole stall of pastries on display. As he neared, he reached out, easily taking the key from the man’s pocket as he passed by. Slipping the key into his robes, he continued walking, realising the big house he saw atop the spire was likely to be the location of the ball tonight.

Which was only confirmed as he neared and witnessed workers unloading food from a cart. He even overheard one of them complain about how much work they had to do for a ball that was just a front for rich people to do nothing but make shady deals all night. Which was a strange thought, considering the city had such a strong Assassin presence. But then again, they couldn’t stop how the society of today worked.

He snuck into the house’s grounds and found a locked back entrance. He tried the key and grinned as the door swung open with easy. He closed it as he made his way in, finding himself in front of a set of stairs curling upwards. Swiftly, he ran up them, finding himself in a long corridor on the first floor up. He walked down it, slipping into his Vision. It was edging towards the evening, so if the meeting was happening, it was either right now, or in just a little bit.

As he found himself at the end of the corridor, another set of stairs greeted him. While they were steep to climb, he managed to run up them without slipping to his death. On this floor, he clocked onto a set of voices, that ever so slightly echoed due to his Vision. One swift whisk down the hallway told him the voices were coming from inside the last room on the right.

He peered through the keyhole and saw two men, one dressed in finery, the other with a clear Templar cross upon his lapel. His Vision lit them up accordingly, with the fine figure taking a dull muted tone, indicating his lack of importance, while the other, his _target_ , had gold glow to him.

Nioclaec.

Julian quickly checked the corridor, no one was up here, and there were no guards either. The only red that turned up in his Vision was downstairs, by the entrances. The corridor at one side led to stairs going down, while at the other side, the corridor continued up the side of the house. As he thought through a possible plan, he listened into the conversation.

“No, Nioclaec, get out of my sight! I’m not on the side of people who would gladly watch others suffer.”

Nioclaec laughed. “Then you will be lost in the New World, my friend. I’ll find the artifact without your help, but do not be fooled, anyone who goes against us will pay, in time.”

“Then I will pay the price gladly if it means delaying your plans.” The lord huffed. “We are friends no longer. I don’t know who or what you are, but you are not the child I knew. Be gone, before I call my guards on you.”

“Fine then.” Nioclaec stepped closer, finger pointing at the lord. “But you only get to live through this day because we were friends.” He turned away and headed for the door.

Julian jumped back, noticing a bench between two doors. If Nioclaec headed towards the stairs, he would pass right by it. And the flowers at either side of the bench would make the perfect cover, perhaps the lord would not even notice the body. He dove for it, skidding towards the bench as the door opened. He smoothly sat down and bowed his head, blending in.

If he passed by, Nioclaec would not notice until it was too late.

“Bastard fucking lord,” Nioclaec mumbled as he turned, heading right towards Julian. “There will be no room for people like him in the New World.”

As Nioclaec passed by the bench, Julian stood up, grabbing on to Nioclaec only to slice his neck, his blade moving smoothly through the flesh. He turned around, setting his body on the bench, where he slumped down, once dead, it would be like he was asleep.

“I thought I was safe here…” Nioclaec whispered.

“It’s an Assassin held town.”

“No one knew, I’ve been careful.” His eyes pierced Julian’s. “Who sent you?”

Julian crouched down, this could be a long confession at this rate. He needed to move this along to get the information he needed. “Stregobor.”

Nioclaec’s eyes went wide. “That _traitor_.” He leant forward, trying to grab for Julian’s robes, but Julian swayed backwards, ensuring his own safety. “Listen to me, Assassin. Killing me will mean nothing if you don’t kill him too.”

“He’s a Templar…” Julian furrowed his brow. “Why tell me?”

“Because the bastard ratted me out. He should fall with me.” Nioclaec sat back against the wall, his head tilting to the side all on its own. “Anything you want to know before I die? I know Assassins like to talk.”

“The artifact. What is it?”

“It can control minds, it will bring us the New World. Like it was supposed to.”

“But how?”

“Humans were _designed_ to be controlled.”

Julian shook his head. “What do you mean?”

“Come on, Assassin… Do they not teach you this?”

“But… the Pieces aren’t here.”

Nioclaec smiled and closed his eyes, his head falling forward, and he looked exactly like Julian expected. Like he’d sat down and fallen asleep, only when someone truly looked would they notice the blood on his doublet, and his sliced neck.

“May you rest well,” he murmured, standing.

Julian stared at the body for a moment. He had to be lying. The Pieces were still in their old world, they weren’t brought through in the Conjunction… They weren’t. If they had, the Assassins would know. Not just the Templars. No. It wasn’t possible. Nioclaec was lying. If there was an artifact that could control minds it was not a Piece of Eden. It was more likely to be some magic Chaos artifact, not technology, not the First Civilization’s technology.

Not… not a Piece of Eden, it _could not_ be.

He refused to believe the words of a Templar. After all, this would be more information on the artifact than he had ever been told before. No Templar would betray their cause like that, Nifyne said so. Nioclaec was just trying to scare him… yeah… that was it.

That’s all he was doing. Scaring Julian. He certainly wasn’t going to let a dead man win, not now, not ever. It was lie. Just a lie.

As the door to the room opened again, Julian dashed towards the stairs, running down them like the house was on fire. Soon enough, he had left the area, and the mission was done. Hopefully Nioclaec’s dead body would not ruin the party, that was, if anyone found it at all. The lord could have gone the other way.

As he made his way towards an inn for the night, he slept knowing this world had no Pieces of Eden. If anything was true, it was that.

\--

Julian smoothly climbed to the rooftop, briefly glancing back at the stable. Daffodil was being so good today, he would have to treat her with apples when he got back home, after all, this adventure would come to a close with Stregobor’s death.

As he went careening across the many close together buildings this town had, he came to a quick stop as he heard the intense sound of swords clashing. A fast paced fight with pauses if the noise was anything to go by.

He hopped over to another building and crouched down at the other side, noticing the fight was happening right below him in a sort of mini square. There were plenty of dead bodies and– _Fuck_.

That was Geralt because of course it was. Why was he fighting a young woman, in what looked to be a very– Oh, that young woman was _good_ , slashing Geralt’s leg like that. It was a heated fight, too many pauses, not enough quick killing. Sexual tension? Julian narrowed his eyes, it certainly seemed so. Another injury went to Geralt, as he caught a blade with his hand. Another heated stare followed.

Were they even _trying_ to kill each other? All these pauses were terribly inefficient.

They stared moving down the street, so Julian moved to the other side of the roof and watched from there. The fight was still intense with quick movements and, oh, there went the young woman’s sword as Geralt simply took it off her. Oh, and there was a finishing move, blade close to her neck.

 _Just finish it_!

The last thing Julian wanted was to jump down and have to get involved, a part of him wondered if that would make the situation worse, or get Geralt killed somehow. He was a witcher, a skilled fighter, surely if he wanted to kill this woman, he could, easily. But she was skilled too. One wrong move, or too long of a pause would get Geralt killed.

He couldn’t decide if he could help or hinder here.

Geralt lowed his sword, still keeping it against the woman’s neck… but lowered it, nevertheless. He threw the other sword down… What was happening here? Were they trying to killing each other? If they didn’t want to, why didn’t they just not– Geralt brought the sword away from her neck, and the young women _went for it_. She lunged forward, dagger ready, but Geralt caught her arm, forcing the blade to her neck, and not just to her neck this time, but _in it_.

He ripped it out just as fast, almost brutally… She fell into him, and he held her with one hand, by her armour. Julian entered into his Vision, curious if she had anything to say. It may have been an intrusion, but he was curious. The young woman glowed red, while Geralt was blue. Interesting that he interpreted her as the enemy, perhaps because she was trying to hurt Geralt.

“The girl in the woods will be with you always,” she said. “She is your destiny.” 

The red glow to the woman faded away, she was dead. Geralt lowered her down to ground with a gentle grace. It was a touching moment… What had gone on between them?

Geralt glanced around, and seemed to spot something. Slowly, he walked over to a building and… hid behind it? What? Why? Julian stayed on the rooftop, confused and intrigued about this whole situation. Something he was sure would be delicate. There had certainly been something between the young woman and Geralt.

Either they had known each other before this, or if the brief time Julian had been apart from Geralt, something had happened between these two very quickly.

People started to come back into the streets again, crowding around the square. There were an awful lot of dead bodies to be fair to them, not something that would usually be seen. Well, then again, Julian knew a good lot of Assassins that would assassinate people in the middle of a city, during the day, with crowds around. Though, they were a blade in a crowd. So it would be seen but, not like this, even when an Assassin had to fight instead of run. Simply because no one would know who had done it.

He supposed that was harder for Geralt, he wasn’t exactly… someone who could blend in. Witchers were a public force, not ones to hide in shadows.

Then, as if all the evil in the world had summoned him, Stregobor stepped into the square. He knelt by the body of the young woman, and Julian, despite this being so incredibly public, saw this as an opportunity to strike. Normally, he would wait for a time where no one would be present but him and his target, but not this time. Something was off about the way Stregobor was looking at the woman, he didn’t like it very much.

And if the rumours were true, he knew exactly why.

He scaled down the building, jumping to the ground once it was safe to. He stood tall as Stregobor got to his feet, shouting for someone, to which a girl came forward, attention focused on him. At that moment, Julian noticed Geralt come up behind Stregobor, pointing his sword against his neck, just as the weasel himself showed his true colours, saying that they needed to take the young woman to the tower for an _autopsy_.

What the fuck was going on here? Too much for Julian to handle, he was simply here to kill a Templar.

Stregobor turned to see Geralt, the sword was probably a shock. Julian smiled slightly and inched closer.

“If you touch a single hair on her head, yours will be on the ground next,” Geralt said, which certainly indicated something had happened with Stregobor, Geralt, and the woman. Whatever this story was, Geralt was affected and clearly cared. But now really was not the time for this, a witcher killing a mage like this wouldn’t be good, especially not in the middle of a street.

But an Assassin coming out of nowhere, to which nobody would know who or what he was? That could be done.

“Have you gone mad?” Stregobor asked, as if he was not the bad person in this whole scenario. A Templar trying to– Oh, the whole thing irritated Julian more than anything. “Her mutation…”

Julian tuned Stregobor out as Geralt’s eyes shifted to him, _finally_ noticing he was present. He tilted his head, and Geralt lifted his chin slowly, an understanding between them. As Geralt lowered his sword and his hand dropped to his side, Julian came up behind Stregobor.

“So you can see reason,” Stregobor said, smugly. Ha, he knew nothing on this day.

Julian grabbed Stregobor, shoved his blade into his neck, and just to make sure, sliced it too. He held onto him, slowly bringing him to the ground.

“Anything you need, Geralt, grab it now,” he whispered, staring at Stregobor with distain. “I told you if you were a Templar…”

As Geralt crouched down and picked something off the woman’s body, Stregobor glared at Julian, then snarled at Geralt. “An Assassin and witcher working together?”

“Best friends in fact.” Julian sighed. “Tell me what you know of the artifact.”

“I know nothing, Nioclaec knew everything there is to know about it, I never cared for it. You, Assassin, are left in the dark.”

“Better that than let you or Nioclaec live and find the artifact.” He narrowed his eyes at the blood flow at Stregobor’s neck. He did not trust this mage not to have something up his sleeve, so he stabbed at his stomach, a fatal spot. “I hope you know only death can save you from your evil.”

Stregobor shakily smiled, his words coming out weakly as he said, “I don’t want to be saved. I did… the right thing.”

“No, you chose your path, and it was not right.” Julian lay him down, watching as his eyes slipped closed and the life drained away. He felt for his pulse, and none was to be found, thank goodness.

The crowd watched with a wariness unlike anything Julian had ever seen. He stood and looked to Geralt, who seemed to be ever so slightly unstable, eyes wide as he stared into the crowd. He was scared, of what they would do. If they threw rocks, Julian was sure Geralt would be dragged down by past memories, forever thought of as a monster in the eyes of the people.

So, the only thing Julian could do right now was to protect him. He latched onto Geralt’s arm and leant in close.

“Let me get you out of here.”

Geralt nodded stiffly.

Julian knew fine well that what had happened here was no good thing. And as Julian guided Geralt away from the square, the people began shouting and roaring. The first rock was thrown, and when the second was, Julian caught it and smashed it down on the ground. Some people went quiet after that. If not for his morals and the Creed’s code, he would have thrown it right back at them.

As Julian took Geralt far from the crowds, he noticed him slowly relax under his grip. He came up upon the stables he’d left Daffodil at, still holding on to Geralt, like it was a lifeline as much to him as he was trying to make it for Geralt.

“Daffodil is here, is Roach?” Julian asked, quietly. He didn’t feel like disturbing Geralt too much.

Geralt nodded. And that was enough. Poor boy– He wasn’t a boy. He wasn’t the young lad he found crying, or the young witcher he found being hit with rocks. But it felt like those days, like history would repeat itself until the end of time. Geralt was his friend, _his oldest non-Assassin friend_. He meant a lot, everything, he was such a part of Julian. And he hoped that still flowed both ways. Geralt needed his help right now, and in a way, that was nostalgic.

No matter what, he was getting Geralt out and far from Blaviken before any more hurt could be done to him. And they would run, all the way back to Murivel and beyond. So much further south than that. They could take a trip to coast, relax for a while, let some of this blow over… Maybe. Maybe that was wishing for too much.

As they got Daffodil and Roach out of the stables, Julian sighed. The next few hours were not going to be fun. As he climbed atop Daffodil, he glanced to Geralt and could practically feel the sadness rolling off him. Whatever happened here… He sighed again, it was at least time to get far away from this place, and to avoid coming back for a long time.

\--

Julian leapt down from the tree, landing upon the deer, stabbing it right in the neck. It was a clean kill. He dragged the hefty thing back to camp, skinning it and setting it up on the fire. Geralt was sitting on his bedroll, with the broach that he had taken from the young woman in his hands.

He had guessed what had maybe aspired between them, but for it to happen so quick… He had no idea how long Geralt had been in Blaviken for, or if he was there when he had first interrogated Stregobor, but he had gone there, and in between then and the fight, a lot must have happened.

All Julian wanted to do was hug Geralt tightly, but he was too afraid he could startle him, or do the wrong thing at the wrong time. So he stayed silent and continued to stoke the fire and careful cook the venison. There was an art to getting the meat just right, and Geralt deserved something good.

Geralt seemed so out of it, so upset. Blood was still on his face, his wounds were untreated. Nothing that wouldn’t heal swiftly, but Julian wanted his friend to treat himself with kindness, not let himself fester. But now was not the time. Not yet.

As the venison finished up cooking, Julian pulled out two bowls from his bag, he filled one with meat, while the other had a fraction of the portion. With grace and silent steps, he approached Geralt and placed the bowl down with a slight smile. Geralt barely acknowledge that he was there, but Julian could see it in his eyes that he was thankful.

He retreated back to the fire and picked up a stick, idly stoking it as he ate chunks of meal, just staying silent. There was such a wash of calm over the camp, but with that calmness came sadness too. Julian didn’t expect Geralt to ever explain what had happened, he knew simply from the silence that there was too much hurt there. Maybe for years to come, maybe more.

As he glanced over, he realised Geralt was staring down at the meal like it had personally offended him. He was still holding that broach, cradling it with such care. It meant something to him, to what had aspired. “I liked her.”

Julian sighed, eyes softly gazing, taking in every broken bit of Geralt. There was no easy fix for this. “I'm sorry...” He stood from the fire and knelt in front of him, taking the bowl from the ground and presenting it to him. “Please, eat?”

Geralt slowly took the bowl and nodded with so much sorrow it hurt to see.

Julian left it at that and moved away. He busied himself with feeding the horses, treating them with apples, while keeping an eye on Geralt. He was eating the meal, but slowly, still with that broach clutched in his hand. He kept silent, even though it was killing him not to speak, and instead stroked and brushed Daffodil, then Roach, giving them the care they needed before night truly fell.

Once he was done, he retrieved the empty bowl from Geralt and shoved it back into his bag. Before long, all that was left to do was to sleep. Just as he was about to set down his bedroll at the other side of the fire, just to give Geralt some space, Geralt made an affronted noise. When Julian glanced to him, he had that look in his eye, and he knew, after all these years, what that look meant.

He took his bedroll to the other side of camp and set it right beside Geralt’s. When he sat upon it, Geralt turned to him, his eyes pleading. Julian sighed out, so sad for his friend, he didn’t know when this would get better, but he knew what he could do for him now. Slowly, he wrapped his arms around him and pulled him close, allowing Geralt to rest his forehead against his shoulder.

“I know it doesn’t seem like it now, but it will get better,” he whispered, rubbing Geralt’s back.

“You don’t know what happened.”

“I don’t need to.”

There was a long pause, a stretch of silence as they sat there hugging. Until Geralt huffed a breath. “You used your blades on the deer.”

“I air assassinated it.”

“Of course you did.”

“Well, why not jump from a height and kill the deer like that?”

“There are easier ways to kill deer.”

Julian chuckled. There was no easier way to him, but he could understand why it could be seen as going out of his way. “Maybe.”

“There are.”

“Hmm.”

Geralt poked him in the side, pulling back slightly with a soft upturn to his lips. “There are.”

Julian grinned and shook his head. “You just don’t understand my ways, my dear friend.”

“After twenty years of learning your ways, I do. I don’t approve of them, that’s all.”

“You don’t approve because my ways are superior to yours.”

Geralt glared at him, but Julian could see that playful tint to his eyes. He couldn’t fool him. “Hm.”

“Hm to you too. Let’s agree to disagree.”

“I’ll agree to that.”

“ _Good_.” Julian smiled, but it faltered slightly as he realised that this day was still sad and that Geralt was only partially pretending to be happy. “Is this a… cuddle in close kind of night?”

Geralt frowned. “Yes.”

“Okay...” Julian delicately touched Geralt's shoulder. “Here, lie down, I’ll hold you.”

There was a slight upturn to Geralt’s lips, sad but appreciative. He lay down, curling slightly as Julian settled behind his back, wrapping an arm around him, pulling him close. There was always something... silent when they did this. Like it was too precious to disturb with words.

Geralt sighed, it was a small one, laced with a thousand saddened emotions. Julian wished he could do more, but all he could do was exactly what he was doing. Being careful, choosing his words, and giving comfort. If Geralt wanted to open up from there, that was his choice, and nothing Julian could or would want to force.

This was okay, because it was allowed, he knew that well. When something big and emotional happened, this happened.

And eventually, with enough comfort, Geralt would bounce back again. It would simply take time.

So, tonight he held him close, and hoped for a better day tomorrow.

\--

“Do you remember Sein?” Geralt murmured as they walked through the streets of Murivel. It had been a slow journey back, but Geralt had been so out of it, that Julian had ensured they took plenty of breaks.

Julian furrowed his brow slightly. “Sein? Why are you thinking about him?”

“He died for your cause and he wasn’t part of it.”

“Yeah…” It had happened a decade ago. Sein had been running an errand, a supply run. From Riedbrune to Caravista. Templars had decided to strike him down for the supplies, food, medicine… and hidden blades. Luckily, the Assassins got the weapons back, and killed all the Templars involved, but Sein had died from his injuries. “He never decided to become one of us, instead choosing an involved family life, but he still helped, and for that he died…”

“He could have lived, but instead he fought alongside you, for freedom.”

“Sein was an advocate for the freedom of others. He believed in nothing is true, and that assuming things got innocent people dead. What the Templars assumed of him, _got him dead_.” Julian glanced to Geralt, keeping his eye steady as they walked through the streets. “You’re thinking about the woman…”

Geralt stayed silent.

“If it was her freedom she was fighting for, then she had every right.” Julian thinned his lips, but that fight… It wasn’t like it was for freedom, and Julian was sure if she was fighting for _that_ , then Geralt would have understood and let her go. “If it was revenge, then she _still_ had every right.”

“How can you say that?” There was a disgusted and surprised tone in his voice.

Julian chuckled. “I’ve killed in revenge before, would that make you fight me? A Templar, _a Viper witcher_ , killed my best friend’s parents when she was only young. I was at her side when the news broke. She told me to kill the bastard, and when I had the opportunity to do so, I cut the major arteries in his neck. _That’s_ why you were thinking of Sein… not about freedom, but about the revenge the Assassins took for him.”

Geralt huffed. “He fought for the freedom you fight for, he wasn’t part of your cause, and the Assassins still got revenge.”

“Because it’s what we do. Why let them get away with it when we can kill them?” Julian stopped walking, catching Geralt’s arm, pulling him to a stop too. “Do you honestly believe revenge is bad?”

Geralt hung his head.

“No, you don’t _anymore_. Because of her. Now you’re conflicted…” He sighed out, he really didn’t know what to do with Geralt sometimes. “If people come after you, for your right to exist, for your _life_ , of course you take revenge. There is nothing bad or monstrous in that. Assassins have been doing it for centuries, if the Templars kill one of us, we kill them twice as hard as we normally would.”

“But she wasn’t an Assassin.”

“It was something to do with Stregobor, right?”

“Yes.”

“I’ve heard the rumours… I had to kill him because of what he was, but if those rumours are true, he would still deserve to die, Templar or not.” Julian tilted his head back and forth. “If that woman had to kill him for whatever he did to her, I don’t blame her for it, and you shouldn’t either. If someone came after my right to exist, I would cut them down till my blades were bloodied.”

“What if that person wasn’t a Templar? What about your innocent code?”

“Innocents tend to be people who aren’t murderers. If I saw someone stab a person in the street, I would feel the urge to run after the murderer and kill them. Whether I would or not would depend on the situation, but I would mostly stay out of it.” Julian shrugged and began walking again. “Templars are different.”

Geralt sighed again and followed. “I… don’t know if I should have let her do it.”

“It’s done now. I suppose, in the future, think about why a person is taking revenge. Think about freedom and prejudice and the right to exist. Then deem if their revenge is bad or not.”

“I…”

“I’m sorry I went into a big rant about it… I’m passionate.”

“I don’t know how you stop yourselves from crossing your lines with a mindset like that.”

Julian spun around to face Geralt, arms spread out. “We live by our Creed, and if we betray it, we get kicked out. As simple as that.” He turned back around as they headed into the small alley that housed the ladder up to the rooftop. “Now, let’s climb.”

As Julian speedily climbed the ladder, side ejecting off it as he neared the top. He grabbed the edge of the flat bit of roof and pulled himself up. Geralt, like any other person would, climbed the ladder the normal way. Julian grinned at him as he tossed an unimpressed glanced towards him. But what could he say? He was a show-off. They silently made their way into the bureau, and as Geralt jumped in, Julian slid in.

First, they went downstairs, Julian had completed a mission after all, and he thought it best to inform Sybilla. She had been a great host, and one bloody good leader, from what he had seen and heard. She should know what he had done, and what he had been told, not that he believed any of it, but it was best to spread it around, just in case.

As he entered her small study that was tucked behind the kitchen, he chuckled slightly at the scene before him. She was standing on top of a few stacked books, trying to reach the top shelf. Sybilla was a short one, and it was her daily compliant. She was barely five foot and most towered over her.

She glanced to Julian, but her eyes went past him, to Geralt. “Ah, would you be a darling and get this for me?”

As Geralt squeezed past and made his way over, Julian leant on the doorframe, folding his arms. “You could have asked me.”

Sybilla pointed to the jug that lay on the top of the shelf, and Geralt stretched up to get it. She hopped off the books and laughed boldly. “You are few inches off Geralt.”

“I could still reach that.”

“Maybe, but who am I to judge height? I see the tallest person and go for them.”

Geralt carefully brought the jug down and handed it to Sybilla with a furrowed brow. “Cookies?”

Julian scrunched up his nose. “But I’m still tall…” he mumbled to himself, more focused on the cookies now than the argument. “Wait, are you cheating again?”

Sybilla held the jug to her chest and stepped towards her desk that was really just an armchair and a small table, but it was enough for her. “No… I made these the other day and I’m enjoying them. Just because Ella believes I need to stop having nice things doesn’t mean I should.”

Julian chuckled and walked into the room. “Yeah, but Ella does double the exercise of all of us combined. If she suggested your break from treats, then I understand that the claims were false.”

“Indeed, but it is true I am porking out a bit.”

“Eh, who cares.” He straightened up, cupping his hands behind his back. “I have a report.”

“You did rush out rather fast.”

“I did.”

“Well go on, tell me, I’m intrigued.”

“Nioclaec is dead. Killed him in Yspaden after talking to a mage that was friends with him in Blaviken.” It did not go unnoticed by Julian that Geralt winced at that name. “Nioclaec told me that the artifact can control minds, and bring the Templars their New World. Like it was supposed to… He mentioned that humans were designed to be controlled. I do not believe what he says to be true.”

Sybilla sat back, her eyebrows raised. “Control minds…? Designed? Julian, you know as well as I do what that is.”

“He’s a Templar, it’s scaremongering. It _has_ to be.”

“Does it?”

“The Pieces didn’t come through.”

Sybilla frowned. “No one _knows_ of one coming through.” She scoffed. “I’m thirty-three and bureau leader. But you’re sixty-nine and a Master Assassin. You know, and I know. I shouldn’t have to tell you that nothing is true.”

He sighed, thinning his lips. She was right. “While I may not believe the Pieces are here, I do think it’s important to inform the Councils. Can you do that?”

“I believe so, it shouldn’t be a bother informing them all.” She took a cookie from the jar, raising one eyebrow. “And what of the mage you talked to?”

Julian smiled at her perceptiveness. “He was a Templar and is dead.”

“Good.” She took a bite of her cookie. “Who was it?”

“Stregobor.”

And… cookie crumbs went everywhere as she spat them out in what could only be described as shock. “Stregobor? You know who he is, right?”

“I know.”

“So you just killed a well-known mage?”

“It’s _fine_.” He shrugged, why did that matter. Some people had to die, immediately. And the situation was complicated. “He was a Templar, that’s what matters.”

Sybilla hummed, sighing out. “Okay, but you’re crazy.”

“Not the first time somebody has said that about me.” He smiled, letting all the revelations melt away from him, for now. “Enjoy your cookie, I need to rest for a while.”

She nodded. “I trust you will be moving on soon.”

“Yeah, I will be.”

“We’ll miss you here.”

He smiled gently at her and turned to go, with Geralt in step behind him. He had business to attend to, which consisted of a lovely nap in his bed with no disturbances. Two targets had taken it out of him, as well as… Geralt’s situation.

“Wait!” Sybilla called as he was halfway down the hall. He turned to see her jogging up to the doorway, arm extended with something in her hands. “This arrived for you yesterday.”

Julian took the letter from Sybilla with a smile. “Thank you.”

She nodded to him and returned to her study, closing the door behind her. Clearly, it was time for her to eat cookies and to keep it hidden from Ella.

He headed up the stairs with a warmth in his chest, he did like the people her, especially Sybilla, but it was time, no matter what he wanted. He glanced over his shoulder and smiled at Geralt. “You know, with my duties done here, we could head to the coast. It’s warmer this time of year.”

Geralt shrugged. “Why the coast?”

Julian stared ahead and bounced up the last step, whisking into their room. “I’ve always loved the idea of the coast. So different to the harsh mountain.”

“Hm. We could go.” Geralt came to a stop at his bed, staring at it. “Might be nice.”

“Yeah, exactly.” Julian pulled down his hood and walked over to the window. Outside, the city was having quite the crowded morning. With people everywhere, and market stalls lining the streets. What day was it? Was it market day already?

Time really got away from him sometimes.

He opened up the letter, ignoring the seal in favour of getting straight to the point. He unfolded it and began reading, eyes quickly skimming the words. Within the first paragraph, Julian’s world shook. It… He. No. No, the– It had to– No. It, it couldn’t be.

“Julian?” Geralt said softly, hand calming pressing against his shoulder.

Julian closed his eyes, tears welling up, too ready to escape to be held back. “I–” The letter trembled in his hands, all he wanted to do was rip it apart. “My parents…” He choked on air, his emotions strangling him. He read the words again, over and over. They never changed. He’d known it was coming, for the last couple of decades he’d been bracing for it but… he hadn’t– not yet.

He hung his head, feeling weak. There was nothing to him, no energy. Nothing. He passed the letter back to Geralt, who took it carefully into his hands.

Julian could not speak, didn’t want to. As Geralt read, he stared out of the window once again and cursed the world for letting him have this long. They should have passed long ago but instead they were given more time and he had _wasted_ it. Wasted years, months, seconds… by not visiting, by writing letters hoping it would be enough.

And now…

“Julian… I’m sorry,” Geralt murmured, his hand squeezing at his shoulder. But it didn’t help, he just felt numb and out of sorts.

“I– I–” He clenched his fists, attempting to compose himself enough to speak. “I need to go home, for the funeral.”

“I’ll come with you.”

“You… don’t have to.”

“I want to,” Geralt said quickly. “You need a friend.”

Julian breathed in deep, a furrow pulling at his brow as his eyes welled and his stomach dropped. “I don’t have many left.” He sobbed, covering his mouth as the tears ran so quick he was sure to be dehydrated within minutes. “Everyone in my life is _dying_.”

“You have friends…”

“I _killed_ my old friend, Ada is getting so old she doesn’t have long left, my parents are gone, Sein is dead, all the Council members who gave me so much are _dead_ , Marceli, Gaothaire, Eumer, and gods, so many more that I barely have the energy to count.”

“But you have everyone here, at this bureau, at the others.”

Julian took a few shuddering breaths, and yet it did nothing to stop his crying. “No… No, it’s not the same, the others were with me in my earlier days. And now, all those people who changed me are gone… I only have Ada left from that time.” He sobbed and sniffed. “And you…”

“What about Benen?” Geralt asked softly.

“He’s… not really someone I think about anymore.” Julian tried to wipe his tears away, but his hand did nothing to soak them up. “I haven’t seen him for almost forty years, and I’ve never sent a letter to him, nor receive one.”

“Hm, so not a friend.”

“Not really.” Julian hung his head, the tears still running. “Oh gods… my parents.”

Geralt rubbed his back. “What do you need?”

“To get to Lettenhove as quickly as possible.”

“Sit on your bed, I’ll pack everything.”

Julian turned, facing Geralt. “That’s not fair.”

Geralt levelled him with a stern stare. “Sit on the bed.”

With slumped shoulders, Julian sat on the bed and watched as Geralt grabbed their bags and neatly packed them. He didn’t even do the usual thing of haphazardly shoving everything away, no, this time he took care. He watched as Geralt fished his lute from under the bed (where he kept it when going out on a mission), as he filled their bags and closed them up, setting them by the door, as he checked over the room, in every nook and cranny, to check that he had gotten everything. It was so thoughtful and kind.

He tried to stop crying as he watched, but as he began to calm, his thoughts would drift back to his parents, and then… he was crying again. Sobbing.

Geralt came to a stop in front of him, crouching down. “Are you okay to travel?”

Julian stared down at his hands, they were wet with his tears. “I– Uh.” He coughed, turning his head away, his own sadness was choking him. “Yes. Yes, I’m okay.”

Geralt reached out and held Julian’s hand, squeezing. “Just… tell me if you need anything…”

Julian nodded quickly, his eyes stuck on the floor rather than Geralt’s face.

“Okay…” Geralt rose to his feet, still holding Julian’s hand. “Ready?”

With a deep breath in, Julian stood, his legs a little wobbly. But Geralt steadied him, kept him standing. “I’m ready.”

But, in reality, he wasn’t ready for anything that came next.

\--

“I’ll ensure the cooks start making lunch now.” Ayers patted Julian’s shoulder with a frown, his eyes sliding to the gravestone. “Take as long as you need, though, the food can wait.”

Julian nodded, having no words for someone who was essentially his replacement. The new heir. His parents had adopted Ayers years ago, when his parents, who were Assassins, had died. He was now the Count de Lettenhove.

He turned to the grave and knelt down, staring at his mother and father’s names etched into the stone. He hung his head. The funeral had been hard, but at least now he could talk to them, alone. Well, almost alone, Geralt was just behind him, leaning on the tree by their grave. This part of the garden housed all his ancestors, but his parents had chosen to be buried near the grand tree that had been planted a century ago.

“I’m sorry. I should have been here when it happened. Should have been here _more_ ,” Julian murmured. “I wish I could have spoken to you more, seen you… But I was so wrapped up in our fight.” He chuckled. “That’s _your_ fault. You sent me away at six, and I learnt it all. Still, I apologise, and I hope your last days were as bright as Ayers said they were.” He smiled gently. “And mother, dying of a broken heart? How very dramatic of you. I always knew I got that trait from you.”

He squeezed his eyes shut tightly, the tears too strong to be stopped. He wished he could have seen them one last time. Just… _once_. His father’s death had been sudden, he’d been fooling around and fell… Then his mother had died because of her husband’s death. All very sad and poetic but very devastating for Julian. He’d lost them both in one fell swoop, and the letter had shocked him to his core.

He wasn’t sure how or when he’d recover, but he knew this was only the beginning of his journey into grief. Not the first time, but possibly the worst so far.

He leant forward and reached out, tracing their names upon the stone. They had lived good long lives… so why did it hurt so much? Because it _did_ hurt. A lot. And yet… ninety years they had lived, round about. That was… so many, so much and… But of course it still hurt, they were his parents after all. His good hearted parents.

“I want to scream, I know I can’t, but I want to,” Julian whispered to Geralt.

“I’m sure if you screamed no one would mind.”

Julian shook his head. “No, I can’t.” He pulled up his hood and bowed his head. “May you rest well and find the peace and freedom you wished to achieve for all.”

“Assassins… really care for their dead,” Geralt murmured, appearing at Julian’s side, kneeling as well.

“Respect for all dead, that’s what we believe. But for our own? They get the greatest send off, as you saw.”

“It’s… good for both those who died and who are alive.”

Julian smiled slightly, imagining his parents below him, hidden blades in their hands, with the freedom death graces a person. After all their years, he imagined it was nice. “Yeah…”

Geralt reached out and wrapped his arm around Julian’s shoulders, giving a slight tug. He knew what that meant. Julian turned and Geralt pulled him into a hug. And they sat there, hugging, besides his parents’ grave. Their final resting place in the gardens by the big tree they loved. And here was Julian, destroyed and grieving, with Geralt hugging him to comfort. It mattered and it helped, but still there were tears.

And sadness.

And grief.

But time could heal that, eventually. Just not yet and not now. At least he had Geralt to hold him, without words because there was no need for them. It was what he needed, a friend to hold him with a gesture that spoke of many things. Soon, they would have to go inside to eat. And Julian would learn more of Ayers life, but for now, they were here.

“Will it be okay?” Julian whispered, quieter than ever.

“Yes,” Geralt murmured, hugging tighter.

And for now, that one word was enough to get him through the day.


	10. New Adventures

“I think we should go to a tavern and have a few drinks,” Julian said, hand on his hip as he watched Geralt peruse the stalls. “It might be fun.”

Geralt eyed him, or more his hood. “And would you go as Assassin, Bard, or Noble Julian?”

“Technically Bard Julian is not called Julian.”

“Hm, yeah, Jaskier the Bard. How are you still getting away with using that name?”

Julian chuckled softly. “It’s a family stage name. My grandfather started it off in 1184.”

“Good cover.”

Julian bowed dramatically, grinning. “Thank you, I made it myself.”

Geralt huffed a laugh. “So, which one?”

“I think… I will go as myself. I want us to have fun, I don’t want to pretend with a cover.” He tilted his head a little. “It’s, uh, Jaskier is for getting into places, the noble me is a cover I hardly use, not that it’s so much of a cover as it is what I am. And Assassin me… is me. That’s who I am, who I always will be. Even though Jaskier sounds like a fun lad, he’s not me. Maybe he could have been in another life, but not this one.”

“That’s thoughtful for the afternoon,” Geralt murmured, walking to another stall.

Julian slapped his arm with the back of his hand, playfully. “I am thoughtful, at all times of the day.” He smiled. “So, what do you say, tavern after this?”

Geralt nodded. “Yeah, might as well.”

“ _Fantastic_.”

After smooching around the market, they made their way to the tavern and got some drinks. For Julian, he could Est Est while Geralt got some normal boring ale because he liked to be boring sometimes even though he could have splashed some coin on a bottle of his favourite wine. But… oh well, they would get to that later.

They were in-between towns at the moment. No bureau was here, so there was no work. And there had been no work for Geralt either. In the meantime they were travelling together, until they would need to split ways. Julian was aiming to find work in Nilfgaard just to see what was going on down there. Some of the Assassins had expressed that something had happened, and he was intrigued to say the least.

They kept the drinks coming and while Julian only intended to stay for a couple of hours before heading out again, the afternoon soon made way to the evening. They had been laughing at some bard for quite a while now. Geralt started calling out his flaws, to which Julian expanded upon it, specifically pointing out that the bard’s tone was all off for the song.

It had been a while since Julian had seen Geralt so carefree, actually enjoying a day in the tavern instead of brooding in one. People had taken up calling him a Butcher since Blaviken, chasing him out of towns more often than not. But this town didn’t appear to care or notice. And Geralt was… His eyes were bright, his smile true, the laugh in his throat actually joyful.

Tonight, Geralt looked free.

“It’s getting late,” Julian murmured as he realised how dark it had gotten. He placed a hand at Geralt’s arm. “Shall I get us a room?”

Geralt furrowed his brow, his eyes shifting upwards. As if he was mentally taken count of their coin. “Yeah.”

Julian nodded and stood, pulling his hood down as he approached the barkeep. He would have kept it up, but he didn’t want to intimidate anyone, and usually when he showed his winning smile things went better.

“Can I get a room with two beds?” he said.

The barkeep shook their head. “Sorry, only go one bed rooms left.”

“Ah, okay. I’ll take one.” He paid up and go the key, heading back over to Geralt. “Only one bed, sorry.”

Geralt shrugged. “That’s fine.”

They collected up their bags and went up. The room was modest and cosy which Julian appreciated. As he set down his lute and bag at the bottom of the bed, Geralt took off his armour and sat on the edge of the bed, toying with his hands.

He gave Julian this look and it was unreadable. And Julian _knew_ how to read him. After all, he was his best friend and possibly one of the few that truly knew him. From Geralt’s expressions to his hums, Julian knew it all, but not this… Whatever this was.

“What’s that look for?” he asked.

Geralt raised his eyebrows and glanced away. “Can you play something on your lute?” he whispered, almost quiet enough to be inaudible.

“Oh,” Julian breathed, diving down to take his lute out of its case. Geralt… never asked for this, hardly ever showed that he enjoyed his singing and playing and yet… He sat on the bed, beside Geralt, settling his lute on his lap. “What do you want me to play?”

Geralt looked away, his hair falling in his face. “Anything…”

Julian smiled softly and know immediately what he was going to play. A song he’d been working on for a while now. About him… and Geralt. A journey of friends, from childhood to now. Ageing but not in the same way, watching as attitudes shifted, watching as perceptions changed. Seeing so much and staying friends throughout it, despite it all.

It was a song with such a soft melody, with quiet lyrics. It told their story through cryptic lines, speaking of devotion, of the desire to stay in contact and near. His voice was quiet as he sang. And as the lyrics got more passionate, talking about death and mistakes and hatred, the melody became more dramatic, faster, his voice going feral, stressing each word.

He took a breath.

And the lyrics tapered off, and the melody died down… and the room was quiet once again.

Geralt was staring at him, his eyes intense.

Julian smiled slightly. “How was that?”

“Was… that about us?”

“Yeah.”

Geralt surged forward, his lips colliding with Julian’s, his hand coming up to cup his neck. Julian had just enough of his mind left to place down his lute, moving to push his hand into Geralt’s hair, holding onto him, as his other hand came to settle on his back. Geralt was… kissing him, yes. It was everything. Everything sixteen year old him could have wished for, and forty year old, and him right now and _Geralt was kissing him_. With capped yet soft lips, with one fingertips curling into his hair, his other hand pulling at his shoulder.

And they were kissing with such a passion… a lingered longing. How– Oh, gods, it was everything Julian wanted. This. Just… this.

Geralt, sadly, broke the kiss, parting slowly. His forehead pressed against Julian’s. “I…”

Julian kissed him again, gently, softly. He kept it brief, his hand almost patting his hair. “I never thought you’d be such a good kisser, Geralt. What have you been keeping from me?”

Geralt huffed a laugh. “I… I’ve wanted to do that since we were up on those battlements looking at the stars.”

“Oh…” Julian breathed in roughly. “Me too.”

Ever so slightly, Geralt pulled back. He cupped Julian’s cheek, gazing into his eyes with such… It was the same kind of look from before, unreadable. “You… I like you, Julian. A lot.”

“Yeah, uh, yeah the kiss made that clear.” He smiled. “I like you too, Geralt. I’ve… always been drawn to you.”

“What… happens now?”

Geralt was nervous, that much was clear. Julian wasn’t wholly aware of Geralt’s love life, but he knew it wasn’t… expansive. He’d gleamed over the last few years that Renfri had been something. And he’d figured that there had been few others in the past, just brothels mostly for his experience. While Julian had been having flings left and right, but nothing to last. He had never cared to make it last, knowing he’d never be anywhere for long.

But this… this must have been big for Geralt. Making the first move, speaking of his feelings. Julian knew how scary that was, and he was sure it was even more so for Geralt. Especially since Julian was one of few friends. Last thing he would want would be to lose him over feelings, he bet, but he wouldn’t, ever. Not unless Julian died first.

“What happens now is some more kissing,” Julian said with a grin. “We can figure out details later.”

Geralt smiled and leant back in, kissing gently. “I wouldn’t mind that.”

“Mmm, yeah,” Julian murmured into his mouth, pushing him back onto the bed.

Suffice it to say, there was a lot of softness, a lot experience, and a lot of feelings shared that night.

Oh, and the kissing was phenomenal. That and the cuddling, of course.

\--

Ada smiled at him, her wrinkles evident, her hair grey, skin cold and frail, grey with the brink of death. She was so _ill_. So old. So… near now. The others from the bureau surrounded her, but Julian was at her side on the bed, holding her hand. She had lived a good life. The Templars hadn’t gotten to her, and she’d done good. While her partner was long dead, she still had so many friends, young Assassins that were her mentees – like children to her – and older Assassins who had learnt from her and become better.

And here they were… at the end.

“You were all good to me…” Ada said, looking to them all with slightly distant eyes. “I love you all.”

There were murmurs of ‘I love you too’ and ‘you were good to me’. One kid even walked out, and Julian watched with a frown. It wasn’t easy, and these young people, who had come fresh out of schools… they were so new to death. And being close to someone and losing them, that was the worst pain.

“Julian,” Ada said, firm, squeezing his hand. “I love you, you know? You’re my best friend.”

Julian smiled, wetly, his eyes full to the brim. “I love you too, my best friend.”

She grinned at him, and she was… she was so ill, so tired, so ready. “I don’t blame you anymore, for your choices. _Know_ that. We had fun, when we were together. Do not regret more time wasn’t spent.”

He shook his head, staring at her gently. “I will always regret that, because I love you so much.”

“Okay…” She chuckled. “I forget you are as old as I am… You look so young.” She raised her other hand and Julian leant forward. Her hand came to settle on his cheek. “Oh… Julian…” She wiped a tear that had spilled away and let her hand drop.

He softly huffed a laugh, still biting back his tears fiercely. “It’s a sad time.”

“I’m just glad you’re here, my friend.”

“Always.”

Ada smiled so brightly for someone who was so… “Can you do one thing for me?”

“Anything,” Julian replied quickly, inching closer.

“Play Family for me… one last time?”

The tears burned at Julian’s eyes upon hearing that, but he nodded and looked to Geralt. He’d been standing by the door, where his lute was. He took it from its case and handed it to Julian with care. This… lute was so old now. The same one his mother had gotten him. The one that Ada had first heard Family from…

He settled his fingers on the strings, and gazed at Ada. “Ready?”

She smiled and settled down. “Yes, always.”

As the soft beginning came, Ada’s eyes lit up in a way they hadn’t in days. She hummed along and Julian grinned, the tears thick in his eyes, blurring his vision. The deeper tone of the piece bled through, and the vocalising began, and Ada kept humming along, her face bright with joy, and Julian was crying, for the first time since he’d arrived. Playing this, while watching Ada, he couldn’t deny his emotions.

She was everything to him and she was… dying.

The tune picked up, and he made it the best he could. His vocals strong, his playing in perfect timing with Ada’s humming. Making it _good_ for her, perfect, as one of her last wishes before she… Each note was seamless to his fingers and voice, so used to this, and so was Ada. She knew this piece as well as he did, and she loved it.

It fit. This being a song of family, of so much more. Of history. And everything Ada had done was history. She had kept Beauclair and Toussaint safe from the Templars. This was her home, and surrounding her was the future, the people who she had passed her legacy onto. The people who cared for her, who knew her better these days than Julian did. He was memory, the past, they were the present, the future.

Ada in this moment was at peace, her eyes drooping like the song was better her to sleep. Julian stifled his crying, ensuring the song sounded exactly like how Ada remembered. He concentrated on it, like it was the only thing that mattered in the world. And right now… it was.

As his voice tapered off, and the melody slowly came to an end, he noticed how grey Ada’s skin was, how peacefully closed her eyes were… how her chest didn’t rise and fall. The last notes rang out in the silent room, and Julian shifted closer, letting his hand hover above her mouth. He pressed his palm to her chest… His fingers to her neck.

His head dropped, his hand retracting with a shake. “Where are her hidden blades?”

Those who weren’t already crying choked on their sobs. They knew what that meant. What he meant by that. She was gone, dead… It hurt, by gods did it hurt. But he had to do this one last gesture, just for her, for all she did… because she was an Assassin.

“Top drawer,” one of the group said, voice wavering.

Julian placed his lute down and reached for the drawer, pulling it open. Inside were her bracers, the last ones she would have worn. Silver decoration and red died leather. He smiled at the memories of where Ada had come from, where her mother had once trained, why she would have chosen red. He pulled them out and dismantled the bracers, so that the hidden blades were disconnected.

Carefully, he positioned them on her stomach and placed her hands on top of them. “May you rest well and in the peace you fought for.”

His voice cracked on the words, and his tears couldn’t be held back any longer. They ran, and he cried, along with everyone else. But he couldn’t stay here, in this room with her body. She deserved her rest, not him crying over her, so he took his lute and bolted out of there, running straight out of the bureau and onto the roof.

He sat there, with his lute beside him, the sun on his face. At least she got to see the warmth of summer one last time… He didn’t know how long he’d been sitting there by the time Geralt came up to join him.

“How are you?” he asked.

Julian ducked his head, sighing out. He stood up and walked to the edge of the roof, staring at the city before him. “She was the friend who was always at my side at the school… We were always reading books, always laughing, always climbing on the roof. She listened while I played, or sang. She was… everything. And I loved her, she was my best friend… and she’s gone now. But, of course, she deserves her rest. Everyone does.” He turned to Geralt with a watery smile. “You’re the only person left from that time.”

Geralt looked… like someone had teared out his heart. Simply because Julian was so upset, and that was… that was. “Oh… Julian.” He took three strides towards him and pulled him into a hug, settling his head on his shoulder.

Julian sobbed, crying out as Geralt held him close. One hand on the back of his head, fingers stroking his hair, while the other hand stroked his back. Julian curled his arms around him and surely buried his head in his shoulder. Gods, he loved him, especially for supporting him during this last week. It had been hard, so hard, but he had been there, through it all.

“Thank you,” he whispered into Geralt’s neck.

“Of course, I’m here.”

“When it’s time to leave, after the funeral, we’re going to the coast.”

“Anything you want.”

Julian sobbed and curled into Geralt, holding him close. “Tell me it will be okay, please, I need to hear it.”

“It’ll be okay, Julian,” Geralt whispered so gently, his hands so warming. “It’ll get better.”

Julian nodded minutely and cried, and Geralt held him, and didn’t judge him. Comforting him like he needed right now because Ada’s death… It made him fragile. To think, he had been preparing for so long, but that send off, how she died while he played… Gods, he just… couldn’t process it yet.

But it would get better, the wound would heal, but time would have to pass first. Only then would be okay. And it would be, eventually, maybe years down the line, but _eventually_.

For now, he and Geralt were hugging, and it made it all just a little easier to bear.

\--

Julian leant on the pillar and grinned like an idiot. “I love the way you just sit in the corner and brood.”

Geralt glanced to him, head tilted, a small smile upon his lips. “I’m not brooding, I’m taking a break.” He furrowed his brow. “What are you doing in Posada?”

“ _Well_ , I was here for an informant, but they had nothing of interest for me, so I decided to pass through for the, uh,” He glanced around the tavern, sighing, “the memories.”

“Memories?”

Julian slipped into the chair opposite Geralt. “Yeah, I was here when the Great Cleansing happened.” He kept his head down, voice quiet. “I freed elves from capture.”

“You never mentioned that before.”

“Not much to tell, I just did all I could.”

Geralt hummed. “Do you want to get a drink?”

Julian glanced to the bar and sighed. “Nah, I don’t really want to hang around to be honest. Got any jobs coming up?”

Geralt nodded to the bag of coin on the table. “Someone approached me about a devil.”

“Devils? I didn’t know they existed.”

“They don’t.”

“ _Ah_.” Julian cocked an eyebrow. “So, what is it likely to be? A hoard of hungry deer?”

“Not around here, but I’ll find out.” Geralt took a sip of his drink, staring at Julian. “You can join me, if you want?”

“Ooh.” Julian grinned. “This never happens. Why?”

Geralt smiled, with such a sappy look in his eyes. “I missed you.”

“Good enough of a reason, I suppose.”

“Good enough?”

Julian chuckled and placed his hand in the middle of the table, palm up. “I missed you too.”

Geralt put his hand in his, smiling. “We’ve been apart for too long.”

“Hmm, months and _months_.” Julian smirked, tilting his head back, just so Geralt could see his eyes better. “After your job, we’re getting the first room we can, okay?”

“I can’t disagree with that.”

They headed out, with Roach and Daffodil. It was a long walk, and quite a ride, but they eventually made it to the destination Geralt had been aiming for. It was truly remote, far from the bustling tavern they had just been at. He hopped off Roach tying her to a tree, and Julian followed suit with Daffodil.

As Geralt slowly walked onwards, Julian untied his lute and slung it over his shoulder. Geralt tossed a look over his shoulder, lips quirked upwards, one eyebrow quirked. Julian shrugged in reply.

“I _know_ we're in the middle of nowhere, but I _have_ to take my lute with me. I'm fine if someone steals my clothes, but my _lute_? I would hunt them down until I got it back.”

Geralt chuckled, walking further ahead. “You would be upset about your clothes too, don't lie to me.”

“Not _nearly_ as upset as I would be about my lute. Come on, Geralt,” Julian caught up to him, slapping him in his chest, “pretend to know me.”

Geralt smiled, staring straight ahead. “I do know you, no need to pretend.”

Julian hummed in reply. That much was true, he had to give him that one.

They walked into an area that sent shivers up Julian’s spine. The long grass and tall rocky landforms made it the perfect place for an ambush. If this was a monster rather than a flock of deer, then it could easily hide before attacking. If this turned out to be bandits, they would have seen them approach, and if they had bows… Dread washed over him, and he walked with his arms at the ready, wrists set to flick back.

“What’s the likelihood that we die here?” Julian asked. “I mean, I know I’ve fought monsters before, but I’ve never gone _with_ you before.”

Geralt sighed. “Julian, don’t panic. Watch instead.”

“I’m watching.”

Something whipped past their heads and Julian clenched his fists, just to avoid launching into an attack. A strange round ball… It had managed to graze Geralt’s head too.

“Uh… That’s not from a monster is it?” Julian asked.

“No,” Geralt replied, picking it up.

 _Fuck_. He inched forward, seeing something between the grasses. “Geralt… what creature may a someone mistake a devil for…?”

“Many, possibly.” He stepped to the side, as if trying to see what Julian was seeing.

But something whipped through the air again.

And Julian was out like a light.

\--

Julian came to with a jolt and had to resist the sigh that threatened to burst from him. _One_ – One mission with Geralt and he was instantly kidnapped. This _never_ happened to him. Sure, he’d been stabbed, and sliced, and he’d fought, and he’d been seen and had to improvise for a quick death with throwing knives or darts. And yet, here he was… in a cave? Tied to Geralt? On his _first_ outing with him like this.

For fuck’s sake.

Something else had clearly happened between Julian being knocked out, and Geralt being knocked out. He couldn’t believe Geralt would have been taken out by a round ball. But he’d surely find out more later. For now, all that mattered was getting out.

He felt around and realised they hadn’t taken his bracers off. Ha. Clearly they had not taken notice of his hidden blades. Never had he been happier for their name and intention. Well and truly.

Geralt suddenly began to thrash, which was good, because with him awake, Julian had a much better chance at getting him out of here.

“I just want to point out, I’ve never been kidnapped before,” Julian said with a smirk.

“Oh, shut up, Julian.” Geralt’s tone was exasperated rather than annoyed.

“I have my blades still, it’s gonna be o–”

A red-haired elf stormed into the cave coming into the cave, kicking Geralt right in the face. “Beast!” she shouted in Elder.

Another elf had come in too, and currently had Julian’s lute in their hands. They started strumming it, quite awfully and violently too.

“Wait, that’s my lute. Please, give that back.” Julian breathed in roughly, staring at the elf. “Please, do _not_ break the lute! My mother gave that to me! Please, please, don't, _please_.”

“Shut up!” The red-haired elf yelled in Elder speech, kicking Geralt again.

Julian, not even thinking, because his lute was being abused and Geralt was being hurt, swiftly quipped, “My Elder speech is rough, I only got part of that.”

“Humans, shut up,” the elf said, firmly.

“Ah, got it, thanks so much,” he replied in Elder speech, smugly, because he was angry, because he wanted to escape, but if he deployed his blades, the likelihood of one going through his other hand was high.

“Do you wanna die right now?”

“As opposed to later?” Geralt said, sounding angry, frustrated. Julian had never heard that tone from him before, it was different, new.

Was it his work tone? Probably.

“No, please, not the lu–!” Julian shouted, so desperate, but for his pleading, he got a kick right to the chest by the red-haired elf.

“Leave off! He hasn’t done anything to you!” Geralt yelled, and while Julian was very capable of defending himself, it was awfully nice (and sexy) to hear Geralt say that. Though, for speaking up, he earned a lovely punch to the face.

“You don’t deserve the air you breathe,” the red-haired elf ranted. She hit Geralt again. “Everything you touch, you destroy.” And she hit him again.

And–

“No!” Julian screamed as he watched the other elf break his lute apart. No… His mother had given him that… for his sixteenth birthday… He’d had that lute, treasured it, used it, shared so many memories with it… for sixty-one years. And now it was gone, broken to pieces, and destroyed by people he had once helped save.

It left a bitter taste on his tongue. He supposed the elves didn’t know the difference between humans and witchers and Assassins. Which was… a shame.

“You don’t have to beat a bound man…” Julian said sadly. “You’re better than this.”

The elf walked towards him. “How do _you_ know?”

Julian looked to her, his expression fierce. “I was there. Freeing your people. I cut down _so many_ of your enemies. People I’m sure would have been innocent if not for… the enemy _I_ face.” He frowned. “You _are_ better. Better than them, better than _this_.”

The elf furrowed her brow, opening her mouth to say more, when two others came into a room. A creature that looked an awful lot like a sylvan, from the book he’d read in Oxenfurt. And… the prince, from the first night he had witnessed the fires.

“Toruviel, stop,” the prince said.

Toruviel turned to him with clenched fists, and Julian knew a fire was burning in her. “Why! These _humans_ would just as soon torture us!”

“Because they are no normal humans. What we have here, is an Assassin and a witcher.”

Julian bowed his head. “Hello again, Prince.”

The prince furrowed his brow. “You’re the–”

Julian nodded with a grin. “I’m glad to see you alive, that my actions led you to safety.”

“Your actions in those days did more than that.” The prince gestured towards the cave’s entrance. “My people were helped by yours, I thank you, all of you for that.”

“You’re a king now?” He asked even though he didn’t need to. It was obvious.

“Filavandrel, King of the Elves. But not by choice.”

Julian sighed. “Yeah, I would suppose not.”

Filavandrel pulled out a dagger, approaching Julian and Geralt. “I am so sorry for any harm caused.” He cut the rope binding their hands. “If I knew you were here, Assassin, I would have welcomed you.”

Julian stood, ducking his head. “Do not treat me like I did anything special. I did what any Assassin would do, it’s what we’re here for.” He pulled his hood back up and walked over to where his broken lute lay. He picked up a piece, with the family crest on, and slipped it into his robes. “You’re not living, are you…?” He turned and nodded to Geralt, knowing he could take it from here.

Geralt looked to Filavandrel with sympathy in his eyes. “You’re getting a sylvan to steal for you…”

“The humans pushed us from viable soil. We’re starving,” Filavandrel said. “I have to protect my people.”

“Can I suggest something?”

Filavandrel breathed in slowly, but nodded, nevertheless.

“Go somewhere else. Rebuild. Get strong again. Show the humans that you are more than what they fear you to be.”

“Like you, Witcher?”

Geralt tilted his head, a frown on his lips. “I have learned to live with them. So that I may live.”

Filavandrel sighed and place a hand on his hip. “You have good advice. I will ensure it is taken into account when I consider the future of my people.”

“See that it does, otherwise, the humans might come for you while you’re already on your knees.”

Julian walked up to Geralt and smiled at him. “Right then.” He turned to Filavandrel. “I think that it’s time to leave.”

Filavandrel shook his head. “Not before I replace your lute, Assassin. I’m sorry yours was destroyed in the first place.”

Julian nodded, swallowing thickly. Gods, his lute. He’d had it for so long, it would be so strange to have another in his hands. But he supposed it was symbolic, of an era coming to a close, only for a new one to begin. Every person who really mattered to him in his past was dead. Except for Geralt, who had taken him on a mission for the first time. His old life breaking, for a new one to present itself.

His life with Geralt.

“Thank you, Filavandrel, that’s very kind,” he said with a smile, trying not to show his hurt.

Filavandrel nodded to him, a smile firm on his lips. Toruviel stormed out and the sylvan followed her. This situation must have been hard, and Julian wished he could do more. But saving them had only given them a chance to run, not to live. They had to do that for themselves now. Julian would make sure to send word to the local Assassins, to ensure they could help with the liberation of the elves.

Human attitudes towards elves could change, given enough time.

For now, Julian hoped they could move on and learn a new way of life, for their own sake’s.


	11. Artifact

Julian threw salts into the bath with flourish and a smile. “Oh, come on, what’s that face for?”

“I don’t want to be a bodyguard,” Geralt grumbled.

With a hum, Julian perched delicately on the edge of the tub. “But it’ll be good pay and think about the exposure. If people see you there, maybe they’ll drop this stupid butcher name.”

Geralt clenched his jaw. “People will never stop calling me that now.”

“It’s so idiotic, they call you Butcher and yet I get called the Mage Killer by the people, as if Stregobor mattered that much.”

A smile crept onto Geralt’s lips. “He did matter that much, which was why Tissaia sent you a strongly worded letter where she promised curse you if his death caused too many ripples.”

“Which it _didn’t_. Still, you deserved a better name this, for one of the dumb heroic things you’ve done. Not one bad shitty day where everything collapsed in on itself.” Julian stood, whisking around to Geralt’s side. He reached out, cupping his cheek. “You are a good man, _my_ good man, and this Queen Calanthe has seen your amazing qualities and chosen you to watch her daughter’s birthday banquet… thing.”

Geralt leant into his touch. “I still don’t want to do it.”

Julian patted his cheek twice. “You don’t have a choice, dear heart.” He tilted his head, eyes roaming over Geralt’s hair. “You are a _mess_. What did you fight again?”

“Just a bunch of drowners, but their blood went everywhere.”

“Hmm, yeah, I can see. Don’t worry, I’ll get you all cleaned up, then you can head for Cintra.”

Geralt groaned, settling against the tub, head dropping back against the edge. “I would rather stay here with you.”

Julian laughed. “As lovely as that would be,” He placed a stool down behind Geralt, tapping his shoulder, to which he promptly sat back up, “you wouldn’t want to be around for my next mission.”

Geralt tossed a look over his shoulder, his eyes worried. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing for you to worry about, my dear.”

“No. Julian, tell me the truth.”

Julian sighed, eyes dipping to the floor. “The artifact I’ve been searching for all this time… it’s _here_.”

“Here? In Hochebuz?”

“Well, near here. Creeping a little further towards Sodden territory.” Julian bit at his bottom lip. “I found a Templar map, with a temple marked on it. I’m going to investigate but… I don’t know what will happen.”

“Julian…”

“I know, I know… The chances of me coming back alive, if it’s there, and if Templars are there… is low.” He swallowed thickly, breathing out. “I don’t know what it is. And if it’s possibly what… Nioclaec said it was… We’re _doomed_.”

Geralt turned a little further in the bath, cupping Julian’s neck and dragging him into a kiss. Sweet and gentle and full of a thousand grievances with the world, if the way he was kissing was anything to go by.

When they parted, Geralt’s eyes were firm. “Whatever you do, Julian, come back to me.”

“I will try my very, very best, dear heart, but I cannot promise anything. If this is what I fear and deny it to be, only my ancestry could possibly resist its effects. _If I’m lucky_. Which I might not be.”

Geralt gripped the edge of the bath, his eyes were suddenly so tired. “What do you deny? That it is a Piece? What does that mean?”

“Humans can be controlled, we’re engineered for it. The place we came from, before this world… We were made to be slaves. There was technology that they used to ensure they kept control over us. I have no idea what Piece could be hiding in the temple, all I know is… it’s hard to win a fight against one.” Julian shook his head. “That is, if it’s a Piece of Eden at all. I can’t believe it is one, but I worry, I worry so much…”

“If it is a Piece, they can control everything?”

“Humans they can control, but no other species. As far as I know. Though, because humans are so prevalent, it would be easy for the Templars to make all humans burn everything to the ground and bring in their New World once and for all.” He squared his shoulders, puffing out his chest slightly. “But as the only Assassin prepared to go into the unknown… _I will not let that happen_. Even if it costs me my life.”

Geralt shook his head, eyes going dark. “ _Do not_ let it cost your life. I can’t return to find out you died.”

“But if I die to ensure everyone’s freedom, is that not worth it?”

“Just… promise me you’ll get out if the odds are not in your favour.”

Julian cupped Geralt’s face and kissed him gently. “I will.”

Geralt smiled at him, but it was sad, fearful. “Good.”

With a nod, Julian picked up the soap he had placed on a tray at his feet. “Now, relax, my dear, I need to get this blood out of your hair.”

Geralt relaxed and sighed. “Don’t make me too pretty for the banquet.”

Julian laughed and reached around to kiss Geralt on the cheek. “Oh, I will make you the prettiest princess there ever was.”

Laughs burst from the both of them, and the tension from the previous conversation melted away. After that, peace returned to the room. The familiar task of washing Geralt’s hair let his nerves cease for a long moment. He knew his chances of survival were low, going to the temple was a bad idea, but he had to do it. While he had sent word to the nearby bureaus, there was no time. He’d found the map in an abandoned camp, the Templars were probably already there.

He didn’t have the time.

So, he spent this night washing Geralt, for the familiarity, for the way it made him feel like they were normal. That they weren’t a witcher and an Assassin, just a happy couple. But they weren’t. And they weren’t anywhere they could call home either. They were in an inn, a halfway point in their journey. And Geralt would go to Cintra, and Julian would go to the temple (and hopefully not his death).

Everything would be fine.

Once Geralt was clean, and his hair had been plaited (so it would be wavy in the morning, the way he liked but never admitted to liking), they ended up on the bed, cuddled into each other. Geralt’s head was pillowed in Julian’s chest, and he held him, massaging his scalp. He knew he was scared, of what the temple and the artifact meant.

So Julian whispered reassurances, knowing they made each other safe. Knowing that… anything could happen from now until… they saw each other again. _If_ they saw each other again, which they would! They would because Julian would sort this artifact business out, and nothing would happen at this Cintran banquet. It was _fine_ , they were fine.

Julian strengthened his grip on Geralt’s arm, murmuring, “I love you, my dear heart.”

Geralt raised his head, smiling. “I love you too.”

And then he was burying his head back into Julian’s chest, and everything was normal and fine, and nothing bad could possibly touch them. Not when they were this in love and this safe in each other’s arms.

Surely…

\--

It was inside a cave, because of course it was, these things always were in the stories. One time, according to one book, a temple that covered a large part of a city had a vault underneath it that had housed artifacts, in their old world. So, they did tend to end up in secret hidden places, underground and out of sight. But this wasn’t just any cave, it was hidden by bushes and foliage in a forest, and

These days, Julian had taken to wearing dark grey and dark blue robes, with a stark red sash and lining. His hood was dark brown, and his bracers were a dyed black leather, with silver plates running up the sides. They were highly decorated too, embroidered with only the finest thread. His years had aged his robes as much as it had himself, but his face and body still remained as youthful as ever.

He was ready for a mission in a cave, he’d blend in well.

As he slipped inside, he came to a quick realisation he would not get lost, as torches lined the walls. Burning bright. Had the Templars done this? How long had they been here for, how long had they known of this temple?

He continued forth, heading down a slope, and slowly, the cave became more like a tomb. With pillars, stairs, and statues, all sculpted out of the rock. The statues were most interesting, however, as they appeared to be Assassin, but unlike anything Julian had seen. Their robes were very different, their blades different too. Like it was a basic beginning to their current, recognisable styles. How… old was this?

The slope opened up to what Julian could only describe as a hall. That, at one point, people had been locked out of, if the dark black tall and thick door was anything to go by. Julian did not know what it was made out of, or what had once kept it locked. But it was pushed open now, and that was… worrying.

Where he stood was reminiscent of a balcony, watching over the activities below. To his left and right were stairs that curved around the wall down to the centre of the room. Two statues stood, both holding spherical shapes. Both looked like… the old drawings in the books. The two most fabled Assassins. Rumoured to have existed in their old world. Their names escaped Julian now, if he had known them at all.

Between the statues, at their feet, was a pedestal with a box atop it. It looked to be metal with a large padlock on it. It would be hard to break and heavy to move, especially with an artifact inside, Julian guessed. And if there was no key…

Of course, Julian wasn’t only. Templars were by the box, huddled together. All seemed to be wearing some form of robes, very Templar looking, very sinister. More ceremonial robes though, than active ones that Assassins tended to wear. These were the ones who would command the artifact, he was sure. Or at least, would bring it to their leader. Did Templars have an overall leader, or just their Grand Masters?

Julian wasn’t sure.

He slipped into his Eagle Vision, hoping to pick up exactly what was inside that box. He needed more information before he did anything. He was in uncharted territory, and he was in danger. If anything went wrong, he was dead.

All showed up red, the box was golden in his Vision.

“Right then, show us what you can do,” one said.

Another rolled their shoulders. “I hope you know that this could go badly, it could damage what is inside.”

“The likelihood of damaging what is inside is low. This artifact is millennium old.”

One of them folded their arms. “It has been around longer than you could ever dream of. If you want to join us, destroy the damn box!”

The… boy, yes, Julian could see it in his stance… This boy parted from the others, and reached his hand out. A beat passed, then another, then a streak of fire burst forward, right at the box. A fire bolt… Julian leant forward, eyes trained on the box. As the bolt died down, and the light in the room returned to normal, it was clear the sheer heat of the fire had melted the box. The edges had gone yellow and orange, molten melt. And inside–

Julian had known, the statues had made it obvious, but he had hoped and wished and begged the world not to let it be…

Yet, it was true. He could see it. Inside the box had been a Piece of Eden after all. But not just any Piece, no, life couldn’t be that simple.

It just _had_ to be an Apple. With that, they could control the world, and bring about what they had always wanted. If Julian died here today, the chance of stopping them would become almost impossible. Because this was an _Apple of Eden_. It could easily corrupt someone not strong enough to wield it, and its power was unmatched. Whoever picked it up first would be the strongest person on the Continent.

Julian withdrew five throwing knives, placing them in his left palm. There were ten targets. This would put him ahead of the game.

As the Templars cheered and celebrated, Julian threw the first knife. Then the second. Third. Fourth. Fifth. Each lodged itself in a target’s neck, and they went down slowly, but still like a sack of potatoes. Julian dove under cover, crouched by the stairs.

“Find the bastard, Assassin!” shouted on Templar, their words echoing off the cave walls.

As Templars rushed up the stairs, their footsteps loud, Julian popped up and vaulted over the balcony, rolling to the ground to avoid an injury. (The fall had been quite large.) In front of him stood the young boy, the mage, holding out the Apple. But it did not activate.

Maybe it was broken.

Julian had read the stories. Light shone from the Pieces when they were active. This one had no light at all.

He ran at the mage, who seemed to panic and drop the Apple. Julian caught his body as came close, forcing him to the ground, stabbing his blade into his chest. He dove forward and picked up the Apple, just as the other Templars came running back down the stairs. They had swords, but none had range weapons from what he could see, which was _good_.

Light began to shine from the Apple, and Julian tilted his head at it, furrowing his brow slightly. Well… It wasn’t broken.

He glanced to one of the Templars and pointed the Apple at them. The light brightened and burst out from the Apple, and the Templar turned their sword towards themself, shoving it into their chest.

Julian dropped the Apple in shock, as if it had burnt him. He hadn’t meant to do that, he, he– It just happened, and so quickly too. What the– How had he? He shouldn’t have been able to… Surely the ancestry was too diluted these days. He had Eagle Vision, but to control an Apple like that? He’d only heard from the stories. Had it corrupted him?

He no longer had time to think as the Templars were on him. Quickly, he deployed his hidden blades, and dodged the first sword attack, rolling out of the way. Four left. He could do this. He unhooked a smoke bomb from his belt and threw it down, then another for good luck. He dove into the clouds, using his Vision to swiftly locate each target.

A stab the back. A slashed neck. Into the abdomen. And into the stomach after he’d tripped them up.

The smoke dissipated and Julian was left standing in a room full of dead bodies. Only ten, but more than he ever really liked to kill all at once. He glanced over to the Templar who lay on the stairs, a sword sticking out of their stomach. He had done that… out of curiosity. He had let the Apple do it because he could. But at the same time, he still felt in control. Been so aware. Knew what he had been doing.

The Apple rolled across the ground, coming to a stop as it clashed against the bottom step of the stairs. He walked over and picked it up. This time, when the light shone, it did nothing to his mind. But he could feel its power, knew what it could do, what _he_ could do with it. The books had never gone into too much detail, they never had to. But this Apple, with its power thrumming under his fingertips, it told him everything he needed to know.

He closed his eyes and sighed out, tucking the Apple away. The best thing he could do, for everyone on this Continent, would be to chuck this dammed Piece of Eden into the sea and never look back. Never tell a living soul what he had done. What he had seen.

Maybe not even speak of it to Geralt.

Not in any detail anyway.

He walked out of the cave with hands that felt bloody, despite having no blood on them. With his mind swimming in information. Understanding had come to him, after all these years of catching up to the Templars, he had finally found what they had been looking for, and had kept it from their hands. All he had to do now was ensure its protection. It could never end up in Templar hands again, not even for a second.

He rode with Daffodil, _hard_. The quicker he could get to the sea, hire a boat, and throw this deep into the sea, the better. An Apple… How could an Apple be here? Surely something had happened to it during the Conjunction and it had wormed its way through, just to ensure pain would come for all Assassins.

Two days later, he found himself out in the sea, holding the Apple in his hands. This evil thing… This technology the Ones Who Came Before had used to control humans in a time so ancient… One of the very Pieces Assassins and Templars had been fighting to keep under their control for centuries. That had sparked a fight between Julian and so many Templars he had almost lost count.

And now, here was the end. Here he was. An Assassin holding possibly the only Piece of Eden to exist in the world. If there were more… he would dread to think. But considering that this Apple had only been found now, in 1249, he doubted that any more existed.

Otherwise they would already be living in a New World.

He arched his arm back and gave it his best shot. The Apple went flying through the air, landing in the sea with a splash. It would now sink to the bottom of the ocean and rot there. Well, if that kind of technology _could_ rot, which he doubted.

He was far out in the ocean, and he cast his eye over the horizon, noting how beautiful the unknown was. Just a vastness of blue. And now an Apple would join its waters. Perhaps some creature would eat it and take it even further away from land.

Soon after that he found himself back at Hochebuz, in the inn room he had rented for two weeks. All his stuff was safe, and nothing had been tampered with. He even checked with his Vision to ensure that fact. No, his lute was safe, his clothes were, and none of Geralt’s stuff had been taken either. It was always strange staying in an inn rather than a bureau, so much more unpredictability, but this time, everything was well.

He was about to flop down on the bed, when he noticed a rolled up piece of paper on the windowsill. Only one kind of person could have put that there. An Assassin. He had asked a few of his Cintran contacts to keep an eye on Geralt, it couldn’t be them, could it? He supposed the banquet would have happened last night. Huh.

He picked up the paper, unrolling it with care. He had been right, it was from Cin– _What the fuck_?

_‘Julian,_

_I have seen a great many things in my time. Assassins tend to. Although, what happened at the banquet was so shocking, I rode throughout the night just to deliver this before your beloved gets back._

_The banquet went, let’s say, well. In a way that it did not. There were jokes, laughs, murdered guards, a cursed knight, a Law of Surprise claimed, a wedding, a proposal, and a Source losing control and causing quite a few injuries._

_Those words are shocking enough but have no bearing on you, my friend._

_No, the reason I rode all throughout the night was because of one last event. Geralt claimed the Law of Surprise after he saved the cursed knight’s life. He clearly didn’t believe in its effects but the consequences of such an action showed themselves right away._

_Julian, Geralt has a Child Surprise. And not just any child, but the unborn child of Princess Pavetta._

_What I can say for certain is… Geralt was not best pleased with this._

_I would caution you to be careful in handling this situation as he seemed quite delicate. Even through his hardy exterior. A friend of his tried to talk him but, he wasn’t seen again, and I certainly didn’t see him as I dashed out of town._

_Only you would know how to handle your beloved, of course, but, I would advise you to use your head instead of your heart. I know you, Julian. You are not ready for a child, but one is in your future. No one can escape destiny, after all. Not us Assassins, and not witchers either._

_I hope all goes well._

_Sincerely,  
Alawi’_

Julian rolled the letter back up and placed it on the table as he walked past.

For fuck’s sake… Geralt just had to make a bad few days even worse, didn’t he? A child… What would an Assassin like him, and a witcher like Geralt, do with a child? A Law of Surprise? A… a princess?

How would this work? And… why did this have to befall them now?

Shit.

\--

Julian was lying on the bed, fiddling with his bracer, brow knitted, jaw clenched. He’d seen blue creep up the stairs, when he had casually activated his Vision. It had been another day since the letter, and the war inside his head had not gone quiet. It raged with questions and frustration. He was already stressed enough, coming off the high of fighting a battle still, especially because of wha the Apple had allowed him to do… The last thing he needed was this.

Geralt walked through the door, looking like someone had kicked him a million times. He wordlessly placed his bags down by the table.

“I didn’t know we were adopting,” Julian said, bluntly.

Geralt whirled on him, sharp as ever, eyes slightly wide. “How did you know?”

“A little birdie told me.”

A huff came then, and a dismissive wave. “One of your people.”

“Yes. I wanted to ensure someone was keeping an eye on you, in case… you know, something happened to you.” Julian launched himself off the bed, sighing. “Why the _fuck_ did you claim that bastard tradition? It never ends well for witchers!”

Geralt half growled, anger clear in his eyes now. “Destiny isn’t real, Julian. It’s nothing!”

“Nothing my arse. This is gonna come back to bite us!” Julian threw his arms up. “I’m a Master Assassin still at the beginning of my time, I’m not ready for a child!”

“And you think I am?!”

“No! Of course not! But we don’t have a bloody choice now and I would have liked some more time!”

Geralt shook his head, pacing to the window. He stared out of it with his arms folded. “It doesn’t matter. It’s not real.”

“Oh, ho, _ho_! Not real? Not _real_?! In this world it is very real, my dear.” Julian chuckled, throwing his head back. But the laugh was dark. “Assassins have called on the Law of Surprise for payment before. It has started a dozen wars, easily. Destiny comes after those with big purposes, we’re easy targets. And you let it swipe you up because you disbelieve it. And now we’ll have a child!”

“Well if you don’t like it, Julian, leave!” The bitterness, the anger behind his words was real, and it hurt… but Geralt was just taking things out on him, just like Julian was doing to Geralt…

“You don’t mean that.” He laughed now, coming up beside Geralt. “You don’t mean that because if you did, you would say it to my face.” He placed a hand at Geralt’s shoulder, pushing him so that they were facing each other, gripping his other shoulder in the process. He walked him back quickly, pressing him up against the wall. “Say that while looking in my eyes, Geralt. _I dare you_.”

Geralt – for lack of a better word – gazed into Julian’s eyes, his mouth opening and closing. “I– I never want you to leave.”

“Good. Because I’m not.”

Julian stared at Geralt’s expression, attempting to read him. He was hurt and scared, and the part of him that knew destiny was real hated this. So, he pulled him into a hug, wrapped him arms around him tight. Geralt sighed out, and Julian heard him breathe him in, burying his nose in his hair. He understood, really. The situation was shit. They were both in this together, because they were partners, they were in love. And people in love did not abandon one another that easily.

Especially not after all the years he and Geralt had experienced together. Through thick and bloody thin really. They were going to love each other for a long time, hopefully until death, because that was the only way Geralt was getting rid of him. And he hoped the same went for Geralt too.

Julian pulled back and smiled sadly. “We’ll work this out, together. Like we’re supposed to. Because I’m with you, Geralt. Always.” He grasped at Geralt’s hand, holding loosely. “I love you.”

Geralt squeezed Julian’s hand, and he nodded slowly. “I love you too.” He took a breath. “I hope you’re right.”

“Of course I’m right. I’m Julian Pankratz, the best Assassin of our time.”

With a laugh, Geralt guided them over to the bed, where they both sat. “How was your mission? Clearly, you’re alive.”

Julian grinned, but his chest flared with the memories. “I am. Very alive.”

“Was the artifact there?”

He let go of Geralt’s hand, glancing away. “It was… It was a Piece. Probably the worst one it could have been.” He breathed in, out, and then sighed deeply. “I got rid of it, and don’t ask where it is, I will never tell a living soul. This dies with me, and hopefully, no one will find it ever again.”

“Okay.” Geralt placed a hand at Julian’s back, rubbing circles with his thumb. “I won’t ask. I’m just glad you’re safe.”

Julian chuckled, wetly, strangely… Tears were pricking at his eyes though. The memory of what he did with the Apple would stick with him forever. “Me too.”

Geralt leant close and kissed Julian’s head softly. Then his temple, then he cupped his cheek. “Look at me?”

Julian did so, and Geralt looked so soft and so… gentle. In love even.

“We’re both going to be okay.”

Julian smiled easily. “That’s all I ever want to hear.”

Geralt matched his smile, though it was tinted with his own feelings of what had occurred at the banquet, Julian guessed. But it seemed to melt away as he leant forward and kissed Julian so softly, and so sweetly, that he could have died happily right there. He didn’t want it to end, as he reached up and curled his hand into Geralt’s hair. But, eventually, Geralt pulled back, and he was smiling with more of a happy note.

It looked so good on him, being happy, it always did.

Julian brushed strands of hair out of Geralt’s face, gazing at him adoringly. “Yeah, we’ll be okay.”


	12. Chapter 12

Geralt was tapping his fingers off the table, and it was starting to really get at Julian. He was at the desk, notes all around him, trying to deduce all the Templars who had known about the artifact’s existence. He was two years into this, and had taken down ten members of this group so far. He was sure many more were out there. It was slow progress, but, he was getting there.

“What is your annoying tapping for? Are you thinking?” he asked, eyes on his notes.

The tapping stopped. Then, “We should elope.”

Julian stilled, twisting in his seat. “We should _what_ , my darling dearest?”

Geralt looked him in the eye, intense. “We’ve been together for nearly twenty years, I want you to be my husband.”

Julian stood, striding over to Geralt, sitting in his lap, their arms wrapping around one another. “Just the two of us?”

“We don’t need anyone to see how we share our love.”

“Okay.” He cupped Geralt’s cheek. “Where? Here?”

Geralt smiled, turning his head to kiss Julian’s wrist. “You know how I’ve been exploring the woods?”

“I’m aware.”

“There’s this spot, with a pond, where the light shines through the thick covering of leaves in the afternoon. It’s so… beautiful, Julian.”

Julian’s lips upturned, gradually. He stroked Geralt’s cheekbone with his thumb. “What will we use to bind us?”

“One of your sashes.”

“You want to bind us with a symbol of the Assassins?”

Geralt covered Julian’s hand, pulling it from his cheek, entwining their fingers. “It means freedom, does it not?”

Julian lit up, his chest was on fire, his smile was grand, his fingers tingled with the need to do this immediately. He leant down, slowly pressing his lips against Geralt’s, sweet and delicate, pushing all his love into it. Their kissing deepened, for a moment, a second, and it was slow but perfect and told a million things words could never say.

Things that could only be conveyed like this, or with the intensity of their eyes.

When they parted, Julian pushed his forehead against Geralt’s. “I would love to elope with you, dear heart.”

Geralt glanced out the window, eyes narrowing. “How about… you leave the notes and do it now?”

Julian grinned. “You’re eager. How long have you been thinking about this?”

“The plan?”

He nodded.

“All week.” Geralt kissed Julian, briefly, almost barely touching. “But…” he whispered against his lips, his breath hot, “I’ve been wanting to ask you for years now.”

“Years,” Julian breathed. “By the gods, we do go slow sometimes.”

“So slow.”

He slipped off Geralt’s lap and extended a hand. “Lead the way, my darling.”

They held hands all the way out of the bureau, only separating to climb onto the roof. Fellow Assassins nodded to them, smiling as they often did when Julian and Geralt were around. They jumped and scrambled down to the ground, and walked through the humble streets of Beauclair. They’d come here for a break, and for Julian to research in the sun, while Geralt could relax for a few weeks.

And for once, he had actually done so.

Out in the woods, Geralt held onto Julian’s hand tightly, as if he didn’t want to lose him in the dense growth. He had to admit, it wasn’t as if they were wearing the best clothes for this. Julian wasn’t in his Assassin garbs, but rather his more civilian noble clothes (he had been planning on doing some undercover work today, but that was no longer relevant). He was holding his favourite red sash, one from his early days that he still carried around. It was soft and bright still.

Geralt, on the other hand, was wearing one of his soft black shirts that half hung off him, and those black trousers that fitted him oh so perfectly. More than that, they were tight in all the _right_ places.

When Geralt had described the spot, his words certainly did not do it justice. As Julian stepped into the small clearing, his breath left him in a rush. The pond was small, probably housing no more than frogs and a few small fish. The trees were dense, forming a thick canopy, but at this time of day, the sun was so intense, that it shone through all the gaps, casting many rays down onto the ground. Just enough to light the place up just right.

The grass was such a warm colour, with flowers popping up, and mushrooms in places, especially by the trunks of the trees. There were reeds by the water, and rocks that sat there, covered in moss. Patches of clover were dotted around, making the ground look so soft and safe.

There was warmth and a magic to this place, even though there was nothing but the birds to hear, the nature to see, and the sweetness of the water and the richness of the trees to smell.

It was… everything. It was _perfect_.

Julian turned to Geralt with a grin, beaming so bright. “You are a romantic sweetheart deep down, my dear.”

“And you, my love, deserve this...”

He held out his hands and Geralt stepped forward, placing his hands in Julian’s. “ _We_ deserve this, the perfect place for us to be married in. Certainly after all these years too.”

Geralt huffed a laugh and Julian chuckled softly along with him. Slowly, they wrapped the sash around their hands, the red stark against the backdrop of green, with only the smallest splash of other colour.

“Should I say the words?” Julian asked, eyes gazing.

Geralt smiled. “You are the wordsmith.”

Julian smiled and nodded. “With our own blessing, I thee bind.”

Geralt grinned, his eyes flicking down to Julian’s lips. He moved to close the gap and Julian met him halfway, lips connecting, moving as one. Quickly, Julian untangled their hands from the sash, and he cupped Geralt’s face, pulling him in closer, kissing him with all the love he held, with everything he was.

And as they opened up to one another, Geralt’s hands found their place at Julian’s waist, squeezing. It was wonderful, it was delightful. Julian managed to pull one of his favourite sounds from Geralt as he nipped at his lips, tongue swiping over them.

And all too soon, they were pulling back. Julian moved on hand to Geralt’s hair, still keeping him near. And one of Geralt’s hand snaked its way up Julian’s back, stroking at the spot between his shoulder blades.

“Shall we lie in the grass?” he asked, the imagine of him and Geralt laying in the sun bathed clearing, with the sounds of birds and frogs all around sounded awfully calming. Perfect for a post wedding nap.

Geralt smiled. “Let’s.”

They moved carefully, ensuring they didn’t trample too much on the sash, and found a spot to lie in. Julian scooped up their sash, because it was theirs now, not just his, this was the piece of fabric that had bound them together, made them able to call themselves married, _husbands_.

Geralt lay in front of the lake, right where the sun was cast a large patch of light. Julian settled right beside him, resting the sash over their chests. Geralt turned his head, smiling at him, his eyes darting to the sash, then to Julian’s beaming smile.

“Are you going to be sentimental about the sash now?” Geralt asked, and his smile was so soft and easy.

“I was already sentimental about it, but even more so now.”

“Good.”

Julian grinned so bright he thought his heart might burst from the sheer happiness emitting from him. He grasped Geralt’s hand, and their fingers entwined in an instant. “I love you.”

Geralt rolled onto his side, pushing up on his elbow. “I love you too.” He leant down, pecking Julian on the corner of his mouth.

His lips slid down his jaw, settling at his neck, and Julian knew exactly what he was going to do. He brought his hand up to Geralt’s hair, brushing his fingers through it as Geralt mouthed at his skin, teeth occasionally, very gently, grazing.

“If you–” Julian was cut off by his own moan, as Geralt added a little more teeth into the equation. And within a second, Julian resigned to his fate. “What a _delightful_ place to make love, my dear.”

Geralt paused, raising his head. He smirked, laughing softly. “I know…”

Julian chuckled and grabbed Geralt by the back of his shirt, rolling them so that Geralt was pressed up against the ground, and Julian was above him, tangled in his legs. “Mm, well, then, my husband, what would you like first?”

There was a glint to Geralt’s eyes, one of love above all else. He curled his hand at Julian’s neck, pulling him down into a hot kiss. “You,” he breathed.

“Ah,” Julian said into his mouth. “That can be arranged.”

The woodland floor was most certainly… _fertilised_ , by the time they were done. Hours later, they strolled back to their current temporary home, hand in hand. And Julian was proud, of them, of how they were married now. He couldn’t wait to call Geralt his husband till the end of time.

Eloping had been the best decision they had ever made.

\--

“Why would a Templar hide in Rinde?” Geralt asked, slowing Roach as they neared the city.

“Well, Rinde doesn’t have an Assassin bureau, and the Assassins that are here are more for scouting things out really, because they don’t have a huge support system.” Julian twisted his mouth, he really needed to have a talk with the Council here about getting more bureaus in Redania. “The only reason I came instead of informing them, is because this bastard used to be part of the group looking for the artifact. He’s one of the last ones alive now. I have to kill him.”

“Do all Templars have to die…?”

Julian huffed, slowly turning his head to Geralt. They had this conversation monthly at this point. Always how Assassins had no true morals, about how surely some Templars were innocent, how killing didn’t have to mean killing everyone. And he was right… in a small way. But, no. “Every. Single. One. Then we will be safe.” He licked his lips, rolling his eyes. “But… you cannot kill an idea. It’s why the Assassins always come back. It’s why the Templars always do. Both groups cannot be killed, and many versions of us existed beforehand, whether organised or not. There will always be people fighting for freedom, and there will always be others aiming to take that away for order.”

Geralt hummed. “You and your freedom.”

“What would you rather? Freedom? Or a world where the Templars got that artifact?”

“What would it have done?”

“All humans would have been under their control. Our huge population would take care of the rest.” Julian smiled sadly. “I will not tell you anymore. It would only put you at risk.”

Geralt nodded and turned to face forward once again. “So, this mayor. What do you know about him?”

“Just that he was on the Sodden team once, and that he used to be a powerful influence in Rinde before… something happened.” Julian shrugged. “The Assassins mentioned in their last letter that he’s been absent recently.”

“He could be working in secrecy?”

“Let’s hope not. Templar’s working in secrecy means something terrible is about to happen.” And the last awful terrible thing that happened which Julian was involved with personally… was the artifact. That day had never left his mind, _what he had done_ never left his mind.

He was haunted by it.

As they rode into town, Julian noticed that the bustling streets he was used seemed… awfully empty. Like the town was occupied with something today? Or… maybe some were hiding from something. He did spot one person ever so slightly poking their head out of a window, before slinking away. Huh… What was going on here? A day of mourning? Something worse?

“Does Rinde seem quiet to you?” Julian asked, slowing Cornflower. She tried to kick up a fuss, but he gave her neck a quick pat to calm her.

“Yeah… I don’t like this.”

“Me neither. Let’s go straight to my target.”

“Do you know where he lives?”

Julian was suddenly very glad he had done reconnaissance with the local Assassins before coming. “In the fancy house separated from the town.”

Geralt urged Roach into a trot. “Then let’s get there.”

Julian couldn’t agree more.

Once they neared the house, Julian guided Geralt to a spot covered by trees. He tied Cornflower to one, while Geralt tied Roach to another. He peeked into his bags and took out two apples, throwing one to Geralt. He offered the apple to Cornflower and slipped into his Eagle Vision. They were close enough to the house for Julian’s Vision to reach the edges.

He thought he saw something glow… weirdly. Maybe gold? Or… Hm, maybe he was mistaken. He needed to get closer.

“Right,” Julian said, stepping close to Geralt. “You keep an eye on the girls and I’ll go kill my target.”

“Can I come with you?”

Julian twisted his mouth, cocking his head. “You do realise my mission requires stealth? You’re a witcher.” He took another step, settling his hands on Geralt’s shoulders. “And while I love how broad you are, my dear, do you know how to make yourself small?”

Geralt thinned his lips. “Please? Something feels off. If there’s a monster–”

“What? You think I, an Assassin, can’t handle myself?”

“You kill humans for a living.”

Julian sighed. Sometimes he swore he’d forgotten about the griffin incident. “It’s a way of life, not a living.”

Geralt shook his head. “You’ve seen me do my job. Let me see you do yours.”

Julian placed his hands at his hips, smirking. “If I remember correctly, you doing your job got us kidnapped.”

Geralt rolled his eyes. “Julian. I can be stealthy, let me see?”

He bit at his bottom lip. Ugh, his love for him was too demanding to deny him this. “Fine. But be small and follow my lead. This is a _stealth_ mission.”

“Got it the first time.”

“Mhm, we’ll see about that.”

They ensured both Roach and Cornflower were secure before approaching. Julian walked with his Eagle Vision activated, taking note of anything of interest. There was one person who showed up red, a guard probably, so he avoided them, and made his way in through the back instead. The door was gladly unlocked, and he hunched down slightly, sticking to the wall.

Geralt kept up, making himself as small as possible, which was greatly appreciated. If he was going to be here, he had to be like an Assassin, not a witcher.

They made their way into a kitchen area, where Julian’s target, Beau Berrant, was lit up in gold. Finally… he had been tracking the existence of this man for months, and now, his death was nearing. He peeked around the corner and furrowed his brow. Okay… what the fuck?

Templars were a strange kind, he had to admit that, but this one? He was _naked_.

Julian turned to Geralt, whispering, “What do I do if my target is naked?”

Geralt arched an eyebrow. “You’ve never killed a naked man?”

“What? No! Have _you_?” he exclaimed quietly.

“Maybe.” Geralt shrugged. “What is your problem?”

“Templars are proud people, I cannot imagine one roaming around their house naked.” Julian rolled his shoulders. “Something strange is happening.” He pulled his hood further down, to cover his face more so.

With a large step, he made his way into the kitchen. Berrant turned, and, upon seeing Julian, dropped the jug he was holding. Julian tilted his head, his eyes narrowed. He waited for the word ‘Assassin’ to slip from Berrant’s lips, but what came out instead nearly had Julian scared out of his wits.

“Welcome… to my home,” Berrant said, in a way that suggest he had no idea who Julian was.

“Are you… okay?” Julian asked. He had never been so concerned for a Templar, and for a moment he doubted this man was Berrant, but he was… Despite his nakedness, he was wearing a necklace with the Templar cross for a pendant.

“Ah, the apple juice.” He gestured to it. “She wants some, and she always gets what she wants.”

Berrant was incredibly out of it, and not in a drunk way, in a… way Julian didn’t recognise. It was so strange, Templars never let themselves become like this in Julian’s experience. But it seemed Berrant was commanded by a woman… Hm.

Geralt came up behind him. “What are you waiting for?”

Berrant sat down and, quite instantly, fell asleep. Julian glanced to Geralt with a furrowed brow, and Geralt’s lips slowly parted as he shook his head.

“Right then, my target is naked and out of his mind. Something is clearly going on,” Julian said.

“Are you sure he isn’t just… drunk?”

“Absolutely sure.” Julian glanced around, looking for anything of note. Which was exactly when his eye was caught by fog coming through the door. He pointed to it. “That isn’t normal. Magic?”

“Possibly.” Geralt stepped in front of Julian, cautiously walking towards it. He opened the door, and more fog poured out. “The fuck?”

“A mage could be here, though, that is a strange thing to say for Rinde.” Julian quickly caught up. “Aren’t restrictions on magic tight here?”

“I thought so.”

“I guess that would explain the mayor.”

They took a left, where a set of double doors were wide open, as they walked towards it, and stepped into the doorway, they both stopped still. Now, Julian was well acquainted in the world. In all aspects. From killing to sex, but an orgy? He had never been too interested in getting involved, when he had been a bachelor. Too busy for such a thing, single one off experiences were much easier back then.

So, this was certainly a strange sight.

They walked straight up the middle, right to a woman with a mask on her face, purple eyes shining through. She was holding an empty goblet, and was watching over this people like she controlled them, like she wasn’t even bothered with all the sex going on around her. What the… _fuck_?

She eyed them both. “You’re immune.”

Julian glanced to Geralt and nodded. “A mage. Of course.” He turned back to the mage. “Is the mayor under whatever spell this is?”

She smiled. “Yes.”

“Release him. I need to kill him.”

That had her taken aback. “Kill him? For what reason…?”

Julian breathed out slowly, his eyes turning dark as he stared at this mage, clearly so delusional that she had taken away the consent of half of Rinde, by the look of the room. “He’s an enemy of mine. Release him, and we’ll leave you to...” His lips curled in disgust, “whatever this is.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Your heartbeats are extraordinarily slow. You’re… mutants.”

Geralt huffed. He rolled his eyes. “Release the mayor so my husband can kill him, and then we’ll be gone.”

Julian smiled slightly at Geralt using the word husband. He never tired of hearing it. “It’s not asking for much, Mage. This mayor clearly did something to you. I’ll kill him and you can go about your day.”

The mage opened her mouth, head slightly tilted back. She gestured to Geralt. “I presume _he_ is a witcher,” Her eyes set on Julian, “but what are you…?”

Julian slipped into his Vision, narrowing his eyes. She was glowing white, for information, but something felt… He had seen those eyes before. He pulled his hood down, stepping forward. “ _Yennefer_?” He sighed. “What did they take from you?”

Yennefer glanced down, and even though her face and body had been changed, that kid was still there. “My ability to have a child.”

“Ah… I wish you had taken my advice.”

“You don’t know me, Julian. We met twice.”

Julian pulled his hood back up and shrugged. “I just hope you made the right choice.” He placed his hands on his hips. “Now will you please release the mayor? His death is needed for freedom.”

Yennefer whispered something, then smiled slightly. “Have at it, _Assassin_.”

He tilted his head back, exhaling. “You know what I am?”

“Few people can look so young and be so old. You’re not a mage, and your heartbeat is slightly faster than your husband’s. Ergo, an Assassin.”

“Clever.” Julian smiled slightly, sadly. “It was nice seeing you again, Yennefer.”

“It was nice seeing you too. Now go, before you annoy me any further.”

Julian grinned now and turned, walking quickly. The sooner he got out of this room, the sooner he’d feel better. Geralt followed closely behind, his presence was ever welcoming now. Yennefer had turned into something… else. No longer was she a lost and bullied child at Aretuza. No, now she was a very formidable looking mage using her power to take advantage of others.

He was _sure_ no one in that room had given consent.

Mages were all the same really. Always craving power.

He didn’t know how the Assassin kept an alliance with the Brotherhood of Sorcerers. Must have been the only way to keep them _good_.

As they made their way back to the kitchen, Julian halted in the doorway, narrowing his eyes. He told Geralt to wait there, and crept in, getting a better look, and, yes, Berrant was haphazardly putting his clothes back on. With a roll of his eyes, Julian silently walked up to him, flicked back his wrist, and plunged his blade into Berrant’s neck. He had his trousers on, he’d been dressed enough.

Julian held him, slowly lowering him to the ground. “How many of you knew of the artifact?”

Berrant got this look in his eye, laughing. “First a mage takes me under her spell, now an Assassin has killed me?”

“Come on, _Templar_ , speak the truth.”

“I don’t know how many of us knew, all I know is,” He frowned, “the artifact is gone. Was that your people’s doing?”

“Yes. Your lot will never find it again.”

“I wouldn’t count your chickens until they hatch, Assassin. The Pieces always find their way back into our hands.”

Julian shook his head, snarling. “Not this time.” He wouldn’t _dare_ allow it. “Now, Berrant, rest well. You’ve earned this death.”

Berrant choked on a laugh. “Earned my death? You Assassins just like to kill us in the hope that one day you will be proven right, but you never will be. Freedom will never win.”

“It already has.” Julian leant closer. “For centuries and centuries, freedom _wins_. Every. Time. Order can never replace the need to be free.”

Berrant smiled. “We’ll see.”

Julian sighed. This everlasting war… Templars always believed in their silly little order, and control, and using whatever they could get their hands on to enslave for the good of _no one_. He stared at Berrant as he died, while Berrant glared right back… until his head went limp in Julian’s hands.

He carefully let his body rest upon the ground and stood. “I hope you find peace.”

Footsteps echoed behind him, and Geralt suddenly appeared beside him. “How can you… say that to your enemy?”

Julian lifted his chin, eyes cast down, looking at the body. “Assassins respect the dead, you know that. We are not like the Templars.”

Geralt nodded, placing a hand at Julian’s lower back. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

They walked silently all the way back to their horses. He was sure Geralt had questions about Yennefer, but he wasn’t asking them, which was strange. Maybe he was in a little shock after watching how Julian took down a target, in normal circumstances. He didn’t count Stregobor because, for one, Geralt had been out of it (probably too much to take in any information), and second, because that assassination hadn’t been a stealthy one.

It was still his only public assassination.

As Julian was untying Cornflower, Geralt spoke up.

“Who’s Yennefer to you?”

Julian sighed and gave Cornflower a good stroke. “Yennefer was a girl I talked to when I was at Aretuza in 1206. She was being bullied, for the way she looked. I gave her advice, told her never to change herself, but clearly, the pressure became too great.”

Geralt smiled softly. “You’re always trying to help people.”

“It’s who I am.”

“I like who you are.” He stepped towards Julian, kissing him sweetly. “You’re a good man, Julian.”

Julian smiled, brushing stray strands out of Geralt’s face. “I hope so.”

“You are.” Geralt kissed him again before retreating back to Roach, hopping up. “Is that all the business we have in Rinde?”

Julian climbed atop Cornflower. “It is. Where shall we head next, dear heart?”

Geralt pursed his lips. “We haven’t been to Oxenfurt in a while.”

Julian grinned, his eyes brightening. “Okay, Oxenfurt sounds lovely. And the weather is nice this time of year.”

Geralt urged Roach into a walk. “Shall we race out of Rinde?”

“Oh, _absolutely_ , I can’t wait to get out of here.”

They spurred their horses into full on gallops, leaving the area with a cloud of dust behind them. There was no line for them to finish the race at, so even when they had slowed to a walk, and every so often trotted along, Julian only decided he had lost as Roach was ever so slightly ahead when they eventually made it to Oxenfurt.

\--

“Julian, my sweet,” Geralt’s voice whispered into his ear. “Wake up.”

Julian’s eyes fluttered as he opened them, smiling instantly. The first thing he saw was Geralt beaming at him, soft hair falling in his face, sun shining through the windows of the latest bureau, casting onto Geralt as if it were ensuring he looked _extra_ beautiful first thing today.

“And why, pray tell, did you wake me up so early when we have the whole day to ourselves?” Julian asked, with all the sharpness of his sarcasm. Because really, he didn’t mind at all.

“I want to spend the morning with my husband.”

“Ah, now that’s understandable.” Julian reached over, pushing his hand into Geralt’s hair. “Happy ten years, my dear heart.”

Geralt breathed out, a smile pulling at his lips. “Ten perfect years of marriage.”

“Mhmm. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Julian pulled away and leaned over the bed, pulling his bedside drawer open. He reached in, pulling out the small box he had bought. He rolled back over, pushing it to Geralt’s chest. “Open it.”

Geralt’s eyebrows jumped and he carefully took the box into his hands, pushing up to rest against the headboard. He opened the box, and his smile was instantaneous, if not a little confused. “Your family’s crest.”

“In my family, sharing a pin of the crest on a substantial anniversary means that I trust you more than anything in the world, more than even myself. It means I would trust you to look after my family if I’m gone. It means I would trust you with a whole lot more than just looking after them, because of the secret my family hold.” Julian grinned up at him from where he still lay down. He put his hand on Geralt’s arm. “It means I know you would uphold our values for as long as you live… and it means I love you so much it bloody hurts.”

Geralt’s smile grew now. He took the pin carefully out of the wooden box, and slotted it into one of the chains of his medallion. Laying back down, he cupped Julian’s cheek and leant in, kissing him unhurriedly and with so, so much love that it made Julian’s heart all funny. When he pulled back, it was with the brightest smile Julian had ever seen him wear. “You are… my one, my love, Julian, but, gods, you can’t just give a man a gift like that.”

Julian laughed softly, tucking stray strands of hair behind Geralt’s ear. “Oh yes I can, my dear.”

Geralt hummed and pulled back more so, hanging off the bed to grab something from underneath it. As he sat back up, he passed a present wrapped in a shiny red cloth to him. Was this silk? Julian ran his hand over it, yeah, maybe it was silk. He very carefully unwrapped the present, and was left struck as he stared down at a very red and very pretty doublet with matching trousers.

It was vibrant, _so vibrant_ , and had a short of dragon like scaled design. The stitching throughout it was of a light colour, that added much decoration and to the piece as well as dramatising it. Some of the doublet had parts cut out, particularly at the front and sides, with cut fabric folded down to add such a _style_ to the doublet, unlike anything he had seen before.

The trousers were lovely too, but it was clear most of the attention was on the doublet.

“You’ve been complaining for years that Jaskier never has anything dramatic enough as part of his ensemble of clothes.”

“So you decided to get me the best outfit that has ever existed?” Julian beamed as he took the doublet into his hands, which was when he noticed the hood, that looked so soft on the inside, and was so perfect, and so _red_ like the rest of the outfit. It belonged as part of the piece, it _fit_. “The hood too, oh gods, Geralt.” He looked to him with a loving, wistful, happy as ought expression. “This is everything, thank you, my dear.”

Geralt smiled. “It’s not as good as yours, b–”

Julian cut him off immediately as he leant over and kissed him, hard. He wasn’t letting his love, _his husband_ , believe his gift wasn’t not as good. It was perfect. The crest told of a truth, of undying love, but the doublet spoke of knowing, of how much Geralt listened and observed. So much so that he knew his cover, Jaskier, as well as he knew him.

And he loved him, loved him so much more. With Geralt, he was always falling into the bottomless pit of love.

He pulled back, kissing the corner of Geralt’s lips gently. “It. Is. Perfect. Dear heart, do not put your gift down. I love it with all I hold.”

Geralt wrapped his arms around him and kissed him again. Julian very carefully pushed the outfit away and lay back, as Geralt settled on top of him, kissing the living daylights out of him. It was always a breathless endeavour, when they kissed. Whether it was from Julian’s heart exploding with love, or because of the physical aspect of it. No matter if it was the softest touch of lips, a long make out, or if it went all the way, his breath was always stolen, as much as his soul felt taken.

And when they pulled apart, breathing each other in, panting loud, Julian caught a mischievous hint in Geralt’s eye, already knowing it was too late. His love beamed even brighter when Geralt dove for his ribs, even though he choked on his laughs, and felt like he was surely going to squirm to death, he loved it. To be tickled and to laugh on reflex until he couldn’t laugh anymore.

But he also loved to dodge out of Geralt’s grasp, or to surprise him, so, as part of his two step plan, he did the following…

First, he coughed out a laugh and grabbed Geralt’s arm for stability. He kneed him in the stomach and flipped them over, straddling his hips as he grinned down at Geralt. When he went for him again, his fingers the ready to tickle (even though he was pinned down and vulnerable), Julian launched off of him.

Second, he dove for the window. It was open, as it had been hot last night (which is what they got for coming to a southern city near the coast), and that gave Julian the perfect escape. He vaulted out of the window, gripping onto the ledge, before launching himself up to settle on the roof. He climbed up, wincing slightly at the hot stone. (This bureau had the classic flat roof. The sun was beating down on it, and Julian’s feet were bear.) He peered over the edge, grinning down at Geralt, who was sticking his head out of the window, looking up.

“Not today, my darling,” Julian sing-songed.

Geralt huffed a laugh, his expression a little stunned. “You’ve never done this one before.”

“Well before we haven’t been in a room on the top floor of a bureau.”

“Hmm. Are you coming back down?” Geralt smiled softly. “I love tickling you, but I also love being near you. I can’t be near you if you’re on the roof.”

Julian lit up, laughing. “Okay, my dear.” He scrambled down, swinging through the window as Geralt backed up from it. “Happy?”

Geralt pulled him into his arms, kissing him briefly. “Very happy.” He kissed him again, slower, methodical this time. “Can we cuddle?” he asked, breathing into Julian’s mouth.

“Oh, yes, please.”

Geralt grasped for Julian’s hands, pulling him calmly over to the bed. They crawled under the covers, in no rush whatsoever. They had nothing to do, no mission, no contract, just them, near the coast, at a bureau that had been excited to see Julian arrive two weeks back.

Julian rolled onto his side, and within a split second, Geralt curved around his back, one hand in his hair, the other wrapped around his stomach. Julian sighed out, relaxing in a way he only did when they were cuddling. Safe and warm. He placed both his hands on Geralt’s arm, that was warming his stomach by a large amount, and he loved it, just this… The simplicity of all of it. Of them, of cuddling, of a soft morning on their anniversary.

All of it was perfect.

Julian closed his eyes, feeling peace tug at him. “I love you.”

Geralt kissed the shell of his ear, easily making him shiver, and he laughed quietly, such a sweet sound of music in Julian’s mind. “I love you too.”

\--

Julian stared down at his notes. He had nothing going on in particular, but he was reading up on old research about the artifact. More than anything these days, he was searching for any mention of its existence in the world by the Templars. All notes, books, and any other written evidence had to be destroyed, especially since all that seemed to know of it were dead now.

He turned to the back page where some lyrics had been haphazardly written, just for when he was bored. The notebook was large, and while the front was for his work, the back was where he tended to write lyrics. Last he was here, he’d been writing about how lovely it was to kiss Geralt.

As he smiled when rereading the lyrics, he saw movement out of the corner of his eye. _Oh_. Shit! The alderman and butcher were trying to steal their bags from Roach and Cornflower. And just _for fuck’s sake_. Why couldn’t he relax for once?

And today, he _was_ trying to relax. Geralt had wanted to see Julian wear his anniversary gift – as he rarely did – suggesting that if he came along as a bard to the contract, then he wouldn’t have to raise a single finger. Julian had been amused by the excuse, because he knew he had been trying to reason why Julian should wear the outfit.

After all, he had only seen him in it twice, once when he first got it a year back, and a few months ago on a mission (but Geralt wasn’t there for the mission and had only seen him in it when he was peeling him out of it).

“Bollocks…” he whispered, closing the notebook, and setting it on the rock. He stood tall. “Oi! Who do you think you’re stealing from?!”

“The witcher is either dead or occupied.” the butcher said. “What’re you gonna do to us?”

Julian shrugged. He tilted his head downward and pulled up his hood, he tensed his arms at his sides and flicked his wrists, the blades shooting out. The butcher paled and the alderman dropped the bags.

“Give me the money,” Julian said, withdrawing his blade with a simple flick, approaching them with a smugness. “My husband doesn’t like being taken advantage of, and I like it _even less_.”

The alderman tossed the bag of coins to Julian and ran off, the butcher following close behind. Julian shook his head and pushed down his hood. He was never going to hurt them, but he never expected intimidating them would work so well. But then, he supposed hidden blades and a bard who could kill was a scary revelation.

“I have never seen an Assassin at work before,” a man said, coming up behind Julian. He was flanked by two warriors, Zerrikanian if their armour was anything to go by. “Well done for scaring them off.”

Julian narrowed his eyes. “It’s easy to when people have no idea what your morals are…” He tilted his head, slipping into his Vision. “Sorry, who are you?”

The man glowed white, the warriors were blue. Huh… weird interpretation from his Vision.

Of course, at that moment, Geralt had clearly finished the job, as a head came flying from the cave, landing solidly on the ground. He appeared from the cave, stopping short. “Did you get the money?”

Julian grinned, of course he had perceived what had happened. Normally, when he was in his robes, no one would ever dare to go against either of them, but when he was in his bardic disguise, people thought he was defenceless. “It’s right here.” He held up the pouch as proof.

Geralt hummed, smiling a small bit. He walked down the slight hill and came up to Julian’s side, kissing him on the cheek. Appearing to ignore their company. “Sorry I took so long.”

Julian grinned at him. “It is a bore when you’re doing your own thing, but I’m glad you’re safe now.”

Geralt grinned right back at him before turning his attention to the man and the women. “Who are you?”

The man stepped towards them. “I am Borch Three Jackdaws. These are my companions, Téa and Véa. I’ve been looking for you, Geralt of Rivia and Julian Pankratz.”

 _Ah, fuck_. What now?

\--

Julian was pressed against Geralt’s side at the tavern, keeping an eye on everyone there. He was barely drinking his Est Est, wanting to keep sharp. Borch was still showing as white, probably because this mission had no target yet, and both Téa and Véa were still blue, so unless they were fooling his Vision, they were safe. But Julian was still alert, in case of any danger. The tavern was lively, and he had no idea why they were here yet.

“He’s commissioned a hunt to kill it. Four teams have signed on. The winner gets the dragon treasure hoard plus the title of lord over one of his new vassal states. That is… if he survives,” Borch said.

Geralt looked disinterested. “What does this have to do with me?”

Borch gave a wryly smiled. “I want you to join my team.”

“You’ve wasted your breath, Borch. I don’t kill dragons. Take my advice. No treasure is worth dying for.”

Borch’s expression spoke of sorrow, or a deep fear. “Depends on the treasure. What I need is… a new adventure. One final first before I’m too old to do anything but die.”

“And you think killing a dragon will bring you that?” Geralt was… Well, Julian was well aware of the contracts he liked to take and the ones he let pass by him in the wind. This was a perfect example of a job that he would walk away from.

“All I know is there’s one path up the mountain, and it’s overrun with monsters. With you on my team, dear Witcher, we’ll be unstoppable.” The sad look that had inhabited Borch’s expression dissipated, replaced with joy.

There was some commotion at the bar and Borch turned, pointing. “Those dwarfs will be part of the hunt.”

Julian hummed. “They seem rowdy.”

Maybe a little more than rowdy, as one of them sprinted up to the bar and jumped atop it. He grabbed the barman’s apron, shouting in his face. “He said he wants four fuckin’ pints!” He released the barman from his grip. “ _Now_.”

“Then there are the Reavers,” Téa said. “Have you heard of them, Witcher?”

“Yes.” He looked to Borch. “And the answer is no.”

Julian nudged him. “Shall we go, my darling?”

Geralt nodded. “Let’s.” He stood. “I’m sorry, Borch. This isn’t a contract that interest me.” When Borch opened his mouth, Geralt put his hand up. “No convincing will do you any good. Save your breath.”

As he walked away from the table, Julian nodded to the three of them. “I wish you well on this adventure, but do not kill a dragon.”

He caught up to Geralt, and just as they were about to leave, Yennefer walked through the door with a man that looked like a knight. Julian stopped still and stepped back, breathing out. Without the mask he had saw her in last, he could really tell the differences. Her face… her body. She must have been a kid when she had made the choice, because he still wondered how she could have been so foolish as to let them win and take her beauty from her.

At least she didn’t change her eyes of all things but _still_.

When Yennefer saw him (he wasn’t hard to miss, especially with Geralt at his side), she whispered something to the knight. He went to the bar, while Yennefer stepped to the side, angling her head. They both approached her.

“Well, today has been full of surprises,” Julian said with a smile. “Yennefer, how are you?”

She smiled, and in a way, Julian knew that whenever they would meet, he would always see a child in her. “I’m well, you?”

“Perfectly well.”

“Are you here for the same reason I am? For the dragon?”

Geralt glanced over his shoulder. “We were being persuaded, but I don’t kill dragons.”

“And _I_ don’t endorse it,” Julian said.

Yennefer got a strange look in her eye. “One of the teams tried to hire you?”

Julian nodded. “In a way. But we’re not interested.” He pointed to Borch, Téa and Véa. “They look like a formidable team, if you want to join them. Though, I don’t know why you would want to.”

Her eyes gravitated to Borch’s team. “I need… ingredients.” She narrowed her eyes slightly, then glanced to her knight friend. “I’ll see about joining them. I may have a better chance.”

Geralt inhaled deeply, and Julian glanced to him, noting that his expression was one of realisation. “It’s made up.”

Yennefer snapped her head to him, lips pursed. “What is…?”

“Fresh dragon hearts are not a cure for infertility, certainly not one of your nature, if it were true, which it isn’t.”

Yennefer clenched her jaw. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Julian’s heart ached for her in an instant. “Just, do the right thing for yourself, okay?”

She looked to him, her eyes spiked with anger.

He knew she was going to remark that she wasn’t a child or someone who needed saving, but she _was_ someone who needed a little love. “Please?”

And then she softened. “Okay…”

Julian grinned. “Good.” He placed his hand at Geralt’s arm, looking to him. “Are we off then?”

Geralt smiled at him. “Yes, let’s.”

Julian nodded to Yennefer. “It was nice seeing you again.”

She smiled, though it was more of a polite gesture than genuine, as it didn’t reach her eyes. “You too.”

They left the tavern behind them, heading over to the nearby stables. Roach and Cornflower were happy to see them, and soon, they had gotten them all tacked up and ready to go. Julian looked to the tavern, wondering what kind of deal was happening between Borch and Yennefer right now (because he was certain she would have approached him).

“So… that whole thing was strange,” Julian said. He smiled at Geralt. “Do you fancy going to the coast? Just for a bit. I enjoyed relaxing today, until, well, everything.”

“We haven’t had a break since our anniversary, and that was only a day…” Geralt whispered, sounding like he was voicing his thoughts aloud. “Yeah, we should go.”

Julian thinned his lips, bracing himself for what he had to say next but… It was time. They had a marriage of ten years, they had been together for thirty, Julian was a hundred now, Geralt was a hundred and two. They knew themselves, they were together in this… Destiny had to be calling them, because Julian felt a _pull_.

“You know, I was thinking...” Julian began, stroking Cornflower to calm his nerves, “after this break we could go to Cintra and see your child surprise. I think we're both ready for a child now and… she's called Ciri.”

Geralt raised his eyebrows. “Ciri?”

“Yeah. It’s a nice name, isn’t it?”

A small smile tugged at Geralt’s lips. “It is. You’re ready?”

Julian nodded, smiling. “I am… With the artifact gone, and all my achievements… yeah, I am ready.”

Geralt breathed in and his smile became softer, more in tune with himself. “I’m ready too. You’ve helped me _be_ ready.”

Julian dropped Cornflower’s reins, knowing she’s stay still. He walked over to Geralt and cupped his face. “Gods, I love you.”

Geralt kissed him, his hands settling at his waist, and he could tell through the way he kissed alone that he was ready, that having this conversation made him happy, that soon, they would be with their child… “I love you too,” Geralt whispered into his mouth.

Julian beamed as bright as the sun itself, he was sure of it. There was just _so much_ happiness to experience in this one moment. At one point, they were wrecked over this, and now…? Now it was time, for so many reasons. Because they were ready, because Nilfgaard were burning through the south and would soon come for the north…

Because destiny had said so, and who was Julian to argue with that force?

And, well, there was another reason as well. He was ready because Geralt made wanting a child possible with one simple mistake, and while it had hurt back then because Julian had so much to do and so little time (or, well, time had felt like it was running out when it hadn’t been), it didn’t hurt anymore, because being married, it had made him realise what he truly wanted…

And it was an entire life with Geralt. And that included every mistake he made, Child Surprises included.

Julian grinned, stroking Geralt’s cheekbone with his thumb. “To the coast then?”

Geralt smiled, nodding slowly, his eyes slightly closing, as if he was content. “To the coast, then Cintra.”

“Then Cintra,” Julian repeated with whimsy.

An Assassin and a witcher in love… about to have one last romantic break away from life before the real work began… starting with meeting their princess child.

It was funny how life worked out… Really funny. But Julian didn’t want it any other way.


End file.
